That time of year is upon us once again. Thanksgiving brings families together, and it’s a time to reminisce about those we have had, those that are the future, and the people that have gone before us. This year, we’re gathering at our house – Susan’s sister and husband, our nephew and his family, and of course, Betsy. The last time we hosted, I suggested as something interesting a “game bird medley” – the supermarkets now sell duck and goose. I thought it would be a change, but Herself and my sister-in-law shot that down faster than a Chinese spy balloon. I had a long conversation with my sister the other night, and we talked about family remembrances and happy times. All of us have tales of Thanksgivings past that solicit smiles and warm memories. Some I’ve included in previous posts, but I think they bear repeating now. These are some of mine. Whether you’ve seen them before or they’re new, enjoy!
When we were young, it was our family tradition to go to some friends of my parents for Thanksgiving, and they in turn would come to us for Christmas. Jack – we called him “Icky” and Berta Forbes were wonderful people that had no children and lived just outside of Boston. Not only would we go “over the river and through the woods” to their house on Thanksgiving, but my sister and I would stay with them most summers for a week or so. Uncle Icky and I would play golf – in fact it was he that taught me to play golf, while Aunt Berta and my sister would do something, I don’t know exactly what. Berta would take us to shows, plays, movies, our first trip to the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum before the great art theft, and we’d have a grand time with them. Berta made the traditional Thanksgiving dinner – I remember spread it resplendently on the table. She always made a mincemeat pie for my father. He was, to my recollection, the only one that liked it. It was on Thanksgiving at their house that I developed my love of pumpkin pie. It was also special because Uncle Icky had a pool table in the basement. This was before they were commonly found in family game rooms, so it was a real treat. We’d also stop to visit one of my father’s step-relatives. That too was a ritual.
In the first few years of our wedded bliss, we’d have a double dinner. My mother-in-law, a wonderful lady, made a big dinner for early afternoon. We’d then go on to my parents for another family dinner, usually around 6. In those days, I could eat endlessly, but even then, it was a stretch. If you’re a fan of the Vicar of Dibley, and recall the episode where she’s invited to four Christmas luncheons and hasn’t the heart to refuse any of them, it was something like that. This was in the days when you’d stuff the turkey the night before, then put it on to roast in a covered pan for many, many hours. I think they got up at about 5 AM to put it in the oven. All the things we’ve been warned about and would never dream of doing today. My mother-in-law introduced Brussels sprouts one year because I mentioned at some point or other that I liked them. God bless her – she’d make them just for me as nobody else would eat them. On a side note, she and my father-in-law would make more Christmas cookies than anyone else I ever knew outside a bakery. You’d walk into their kitchen and see every countertop, every shelf, and every flat surface in the pantry covered in all manner of cookies. They’d bake dozens and dozens of them. I fully expected one year to see cookies hanging from the ceiling.
After she died, my father-in-law sold their place in Florida and moved back to New Hampshire. Susan’s sister and her husband hosted Thanksgiving dinner at their house. I remember that my father-in-law, I always called him by his name – Alfred – remarked that there were no creamed onions. To quote, “Your mother always made creamed onions.” So, my sister promised to make them the next year. Along comes the next year, and there they are, proudly sitting on the table as promised. Nobody touched them. Margaret told him pointedly that she’d made the creamed onions “like Mom’s” for him. It was then that he admitted he’d never particularly cared for creamed onions and would pass. We all had some to make her feel better, but my sister-in-law glared at him throughout dinner.
Back before we had roasters with built-in racks, we’d use the old covered roasting pans, so we’d make a “cradle” of tin foil, overlapping each side, so that we could get the turkey in and out. It was always a test of engineering skills to make sure the tin foil was strong enough and had enough layers to hold. The first year we’d bought our house, we were hosting. It was our maiden Reynolds wrap voyage, and, if you too are looking ahead, there were not enough layers. The foil broke and the turkey slid across the floor. That was at least thirty years ago, and to this day I can see that turkey moving like lightning toward the dining room. We picked it up, cleaned it off, and away we went. Don’t believe anyone at dinner that day knew what had happened, and we certainly weren’t saying a word. OK, we did admit it years later.
Thanksgiving television episodes bring great remembrances of happy viewing. My personal favorite was the episode of “Mad About You”, when the dog eats the turkey, so Paul and Jamie keep trying to sneak a replacement in past the in-laws. They go through about six turkeys, and that is truly one of the funnier television episodes of all time, Thanksgiving or not. There are several episodes of “Everyone Loves Raymond” that highlight the holiday. Two in particular always bring a smile when I see them. There is one where Debra is angry with Ray, not unusual. She’s buttering the turkey and it gets away from her. She’s chasing it all around the kitchen, finally getting it by the drumsticks and slings it into the oven, sans pan. The other was the year was the year that Marie was going “healthy” and made a tofu turkey, with little paper drumsticks that wiggled hilariously when she puts it on the table. There was also a memorable “Murphy Brown” Thanksgiving episode where they’re helping out at a kitchen for the homeless. Murphy’s ordered live turkeys, which Myles was picking up in his BMW. It didn’t go well. And we still joke about “Grammy Dial’s cranberry / prune stuffing.” If you’re old enough, you might remember WKRP in Cincinnati’s classic Thanksgiving Promotion, when they drop the turkeys from the helicopter, landing as lethal projectiles into a parking lot. Arthur Carlson, the station manager’s famous statement at the end summed it up: “As God as my witness, I thought turkeys could fly.” TV has been good to Thanksgiving viewing over the years.
So much good comes flooding back as we again prepare for Thanksgiving. As I mentioned before, we are hosting this year. We’ll have two sets of stuffing, because the family’s traditional sausage stuffing, which we can no more do without than the creamed onions, sadly doesn’t agree with me, so I’ll make a cranberry and apple stuffing for myself and a few others. There are the endless controversies – jellied cranberry sauce versus, well, those whole cranberries. I like to thicken the gravy with corn starch, but Herself insists it has an aftertaste so I should use
flour instead. Frozen versus fresh turkeys. (We’re going fresh this year – bought it today, and it’s resting comfortably in the fridge. The Princess will be home, and insists on a large turkey so she can take home beaucoup leftovers. We’ll probably give away the leftovers this year and end up cooking another turkey over the weekend for the Princess to take home. Warmest regards to everyone as you gather for the holiday. Enjoy the parade from New York, any football games you choose to watch, and keep an eye on the turkey so it doesn’t run away!
I'm Thinking...No! 