Gobble, Gobble

Thanksgiving seems to be a time to reflect on the past as well as gives thanks for the present. In that vein here are some of my scatter shot Thanksgiving memories.

When we were kids, we ALWAYS went to our grandparents in Iowa for Thanksgiving. While it may seem like a raw deal, it was a small price to pay for being able to stay home for Christmas. Straight through, it's a little over a three hour car ride, which in kid time is like three days. Not exactly the most exciting scenery either. We'd leave right after school on Wednesday afternoon and more often than not it seemed to be snowing. Or maybe I just remember the years that it snowed. We'd stop for dinner somewhere along the way and usually by the time we arrived in Iowa, JB and I would be crashed in the back seat of our parent's car (sans seat belts or any other child safety restraint of course).

It was usually a full house for Thanksgiving, so we often ended up on the living room floor in sleeping bags. A hard floor with very thin carpet and a German cuckoo clock, whose incessant noise-making made sleep difficult. We'd be up bright as early as our grandma would start cooking at around 4am. Okay, maybe it only seemed like 4am to a dumb kid, but the woman wasn't one to sleep in or be mindful of people sleeping nearby when she was rattling around the kitchen.

The rest of the day would be a haze of food and football. JB and I would always get stuck at the "kids table," some crappy, wobbly card table with decrepit folding chairs with our like-aged cousins. It did allow us to be out of the watchful eye of grandma, which meant we could have a glass of milk WITH the food. How we were we supposed to wash it down without?

One odd memory is the way our grandpa would rave on and on about all the mashed potatoes one of our girl cousins ate. Mashed potatoes, we thought, who the hell cares how many mashed potatoes she eats? Alas, the extra grandfatherly attention didn't ensure happiness down the road as she ended up popping a couple kids out of wedlock and has had difficulty leading a stable life.

Apres the feastin', if the weather was decent, we'd go outside and play football with our cousins and some of the town kids we had gotten to know (we used to play "riot" with some of these same kids with JB and I playing the role of baton wielding cops and they the role of disruptive hippies. Good times, good times.). If not, we'd watch it on TV and laugh at the fact that the Iowans had no professional team of their own to cheer for. Pitifully, they were forced to "adopt" teams of their own choosing. There were always a lot of Vikings and Bears fans of course and then those who jumped on the successful teams of the day like the Cowboys and Steelers. There were also a few outliers like one cousin who was a diehard Lions fan. Poor bastard.

If we managed to make it through the day without incurring the wrath of our uptight English professor uncle or our creepy loner uncle (by marriage)--who always was skulking off somewhere to read Louis L'amour novels--we considered the day a high success. The best part of course was the food. The turkey, the buns, the gravy, the stuffing, all was top-notch. Since it was Iowa farm country, even simple things like corn, butter, and milk were better than what we were accustomed to. And the pie...oh, the pie. A slice of hot apple pie with a scoop of ice cream was heaven on earth.

Thanksgiving as an adult of course takes on an added dimension: the drinking. Beer, wine, gin, Scotch, etc. when it comes to Thanksgiving drinking the mores the merrier. Two of the more memorable Thanksgivings in this regard are the times that my wife and I spent Thanksgiving with JB when he was living as a bachelor in Boston (believe it or not he wasn't always a backwards-arse hick).

The best thing was that once we got to Beantown, there was no place to go on the big day. We'd pick up an amazingly over-priced free range turkey (I think they were around $17 a pound) and other food stuffs at Whole Foods-- along with plenty of booze of course--the day before and we were golden. No car trips. No relatives. Nothing. Frankly, it took some bit of motivation to even decide to bother with a shower. After all, we weren't going anywhere.

My wife would take the lead in the kitchen (otherwise JB would be serving up toast and popcorn), which allowed the two of us to basically sit on the couch and start the drinking nice and early. No obligations, no pressures, no need to not be completely yourself and let it all hang out (eventually I did have to insist that JB put some pants on).

After much eating, drinking, and football watching, we'd each settle in for a nice nap late in the afternoon. No one to disturb your rest. Nothing to feel that should be doing instead. Completely guilt-free sloth. It really doesn't get any better.

Then we'd get up, grab a couple of turkey sandwedges, watch a movie or two, and recommence the imbibing. Pretty much the way the 'Grims must have envisioned it being when they broke bread with the Indians at that first Thanksgiving so many many years ago.

Have a very happy Thanksgiving. And go easy on the mashed potatoes.