It's that time of year again.  My favorite time of year, again.  My favorite holiday of all the holidays.  Thanksgiving Day. 

I've been dreaming.  DREAMING!  Dreaming of perfectly browned turkey legs dancing across the table doing Rockette style kicks before coming to the mountains of fragrant bread stuffing studded with morsels of giblets and surrounded by acres of fluffy white mashed potatoes made even more white by the addition of cream cheese and sour cream and punctuated with rivers and lakes of savory turkey gravy.  Excuse me while I wipe the drool from my chin.

The diabolical hand wringing started shortly after the election when Butterball turkeys went on sale at Aldi's and I picked one up thereby subtly volunteering to cook the turkey and stuffing.  This year I will not be denied.  I can live with plain mashed potatoes but I will not suffer another year without homemade turkey gravy and giblet stuffing.  I just won't do it.  So to pull off this coup there will be some plotting and planning involved.  Ok, a LOT of plotting and planning.

Everything needed has been purchased and strategically hidden behind everyday items in the fridge.  I'll just need some sort of diversion to keep Honey out of the kitchen at the critical mixing moments. 

He may be onto me since he took Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday off of work.  He SAYS it was to get all his Christmas shopping out of the way but I'm suspicious.  Honey's Christmas shopping consists of spending one WHOLE half hour in front of the gift card kiosk picking gift cards to local restaurants and favorite retail stores for his family members.  He also likes to observe me looking at merchandise or asking me what I think about this item or that item in his quest for good Catty gifts.  I know what he's doing.  I'm on to HIM.  The only thing that throws me off is that he'll get something that I said was stupid.  But while he's observing me, I'm observing him and I've got some good present ideas for him.

We pick up a couple items we think we need while we are out.  A new brown belt for me.  A couple of those bottle top pourers for him.  He likes oil and vinegar on his salad and thought it would be nice to have some pretty bottles on the table with pourers for salad eating occasions.  We go through his interesting bottle collection and find one that the pourer fits on.  I make him wash it.  Two days later there are still water drops in the bottle.  He's trying to get the handle of wooden spoon covered with a paper towel down the neck of the bottle.  When it doesn't work he leaves the bottle on the counter and I grab it which makes him immediately interested in the bottle again.  I twist the towel without the spoon handle into the top of the bottle while he yells, "don't!  Thats not going to work."  I just turn my body this way and that as he tries to grab the bottle, thwarting his efforts to take possession.

He starts to get exasperated and tells me, "you are going to get the towel stuck in it."   To which I reply, "I am not.  Besides, you should know by now that I don't listen to you."  He stops his efforts to grab the bottle from me and bursts into fits of laughter.  When we finally stop laughing I try to quantify that last statement by telling him, "I do listen to you.  I take what you say into consideration then I do things the way I feel is best whether you agree or not.  I don't do things just because you say so."  Then I tell him he should point the hair dryer down the neck of the bottle and he ignores me.  See, that works both ways.

I go back to my plotting and planning under the guise of my latest read The Devil's Knot .  More on that later.  Honey sits next to me flipping through sports channels.  At some point in the evening he stops fidgetting and I ask him what he's watching, without actually looking up.  "Documentary," he says.  Curious, I look up from my book and see:

"Ahhh," I say, "about cannibalism."

Well I'm going back to my plotting and planning (and food dreams) but I'll leave you with another holiday conversation:

Thanksgiving is a time to reflect on what we've been given  and to savor the scents of crisp autumn days and pumpkin pie, but for this woman it has a whole different meaning:
 
One November afternoon when my daughter was in kindergarten, I picked her up after school. She bobbed out to the car and crawled into the back seat.
 
"What did you do today?" I asked.
She couldn't wait to tell me. "We learned that boys are different from girls" she chirped.  Looking into the rearview mirror I could just see the top of her head. 
 
"My teacher told us that boys have a thing the girls don't," she added.
 
"Well, yes they do..." I said cautiously.
 
Then she piped up again. "That's how girls know that boys are boys," she said. "They see that thing hanging down and they know that he's a boy..."
 
I mentally calculated the distance home. Our five-minute commute already felt like an hour.
 
"Did you know that when the boys see a girl they puff up?"
 
My palms were beginning to sweat. "Um...well..."  I was still searching for something to say, to change the subject, when she asked, "Why do the girls like boys to have those things?" Well I didn't know what to say. I mean, what woman hasn't asked herself that very same question at least once? "Oh, well...um..." I stammered.
 
She didn't wait for my answer. She had her own. "It's cause it moves when they walk and when girls see that they know they're boys and that's when they like them. Then the boy sees the girl and he puffs up, then the girl really knows he likes her too. And then they get married. And then they get cooked."

That last part confused me a bit, but on the whole I thought she had a pretty good grasp on things. As soon as we got home she hopped out of the car, fishing something out of her school bag. "I drew a picture," she said. "...you want to see?"
 
I wasn't all that sure I did, but I looked anyway. I had to sit down.
 
There, all puffed up so to speak, looking mighty attractive for the ladies, was a crayon drawing of a great big Tom Turkey.  His snood, the thing that hangs down over his beak, the thing that female turkeys find so irresistible, was magnificent.  His tail feathers were standing tall and proud.
 
She was a little offended that I laughed so hard at her drawing. 
 
I laughed until I cried. But I told her I loved it - and I did - and she got over her pique. That was the end of that....for her anyway. But I'm not so lucky. Every year I remember that conversation, and to be honest I haven't looked at a turkey or a man the same way since.

I hope you all have a happy and health Thanksgiving!

tags: thanksgiving  turkey  stuffing  mashed potatoes  gravy  relationships  christmas shopping  

links: digg this    del.icio.us    technorati    reddit