Thanksgiving Disaster

Well, it's time for Thanksgiving again. Another bird, another family gathering. I love it! I decided to revisit one of my favorite Thanksgiving stories from several years and husbands ago. Hope you enjoy!

Iam 47 years old and one would think that any woman of that age would have cooked many a Thanksgiving turkey, but because of family dynamics and traditions, I never had to cook the Big Bird. For years I went to my mother’s or one of my sister’s houses for Thanksgiving day, as that was our tradition. But last year, following my husband’s mother’s death, I decided I would invite his whole family over, hoping to make their first Thanksgiving without their mother less painful.

My last husband (MLH)came from a big family: six brothers and sisters, complete with spouses, children, and strays they picked up along the way. So I of course shopped for the biggest turkey I could find. It weighed 32 pounds. I thought nothing of it. So much for insight.

Well, the instructions said you should thaw it in the refrigerator for so many days per pound. So for 2 weeks I lived with that monster in the refrigerator. MLH had to help me move it around as it was so big. When he was out of town, I had to invite the neighbors over to help. By the time you put a pan under it , it took up a whole shelf and I also had to take out the shelf above it so it would fit. Each day we took out Big Bird, turned him over, drained his tray, and put him back.

Finally the big day arrived. Now, mind you, I had already spent more quality time with this bird than I had with my own child, but the end was near. I was, shall we say, “hopeful”.


I hoisted the turkey onto the counter, cut off his plastic wrapping and looked at him. He was not what I expected. Sort of like a blind date. His color was “poor”- a descriptive term used by nurses when they call the doctor up at home to tell him he ought to hurry to the hospital. He had little flat spots where his weight had rested, and blotchy skin. I spread open his legs hoping to see the little package of giblets all my sisters had warned me about, but didn’t see a thing. I reached inside his “cavity” (such an aesthetic term) to pull out his package of giblets. Nothing. I reached in further. Nothing . I explored. Nothing. I realized that this was the most intimate thing I had ever done with some one I was not married to. I probed. Nothing. My reached as far as I could. My hand materialized at his neck opening. I was now wearing a very large turkey bracelet. But, still no package. Well, OK, I could get more giblets from the store.

Next the instructions told me to rub his body with butter. A cold pale huge blimp with goose(turkey?) bumps getting an oil rub down. I momentarily had a flashback to a bad date, on the beach, circa '68. I shivered. But then I saw it. My turkey had a broken leg. Now the question was. When did it break? Was this a pre- or post mortem injury? I’m a nurse- it makes a difference. I pictured this 32 pound hulk limping around the barnyard dragging his left leg. Pain? Infection? Blood poisioning? Gangrene? Pulmonary embolism? I decided, “I ain’t eating any of this!”, but in honor of Julia , “What they don’t know in the dining room won’t hurt them.” I applied a small splint to the broken bone, and off he went to the oven.

I went to the store and bought a package of giblets. I was to “boil them until tender with salt and pepper”. Rocket science. Now I was bored. And I had thought this was going to be a challenge. I had a least an hour with nothing else to do. So I went up to my office where I felt much more at home.

Do you know how, sometimes, when you get real involved in work, how you lose all track of time? Please, tell me it’s not just me. Tell me that you do it to!!

Well, I have good news and bad news. The good news is that the smoke alarm worked. Well, actually, there is double good news. K& W cafeteria was open on Thanksgiving Day. And our insurance covered smoke damage. Wonder if you can buy homemaker reputation insurance?

The next year MLH’s family decided to repay the invitation. I don’t have to cook. Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!

And somewhere in heaven, God is smiling. All’s right with His world.