A Turkey Tale November 23, 2011Posted by Kimmothy in Baptists, Fam Damily, Holidays.
How did it get from the first football game to Turkey Eve already? That was a quick minute; damn.
I feel like I’ve been so lucky this past year, I honestly can’t think of any thing I want right now. ”Thing,” of course being defined as material item; I’m always going to wish for more time with family and friends, more time to travel, more time to read…so maybe if I can find a good Black Friday deal on a time hoarding machine, I’ll spring for that.
A private jet would work well too, but I hear they’re starting to tax private jet owners a lot so that won’t work for me.
But instead of getting sappy/nostalgic (there’s still a lot of holiday time left for that), I’ll share a Mother-in-law story, because mine is always good fodder for a giggle.
Cooking and Iris go together like [insert cliche'd metaphor here]. She’s always prided herself on it, but when she retired a few years back it became even more front and center in her identity. That’s not news; it’s that way with a lot of women, but around holiday time, she not only goes all out, she goes all out of her damn mind.
In August, friends of theirs asked them to join them on a five-day cruise. Knowing they wouldn’t be getting home until the day before Thanksgiving, she was a little hesitant, but it was months away, she’d never been on a cruise before and she figured she could handle most of the food ahead of time. She asked me at that time if I thought it would be too much trouble for me to go over there and take the turkey out to defrost the Saturday prior to the holiday.
No problem. In fact, I was eager to help with something, because the only contribution from me she wanted for the holiday meal is Brown ‘n Serve rolls, the kind that come in aluminum foil trays that you remove from plastic bags and warm in the oven for a few minutes. Because apparently that’s where she believes my cooking skills begin and end. She happened to ask me that in front of my sister a few weeks ago and Sister was all, “Oooh, burn.”
Yeah, I know.
The day before they left for the cruise, I got the phone call I was fully expecting.
“Hey, Key-im, are you still going to be able to take the turkey out on Saturday? Because if there’s a problem, let me know and I’ll figure something out. We can’t have Thanksgiving without a turkey!”
Me: “Yes, no problem; I’ll be heading over there tomorrow.”
Her: “Do you still have your key to the house? Because I can leave a spare key somewhere if you don’t, or give you the garage door code, or, or…”
Me: “Got the key right here on my keychain; no problem.”
Her: “Well, I was thinking about just taking it out tomorrow morning before we leave, but I’m worried that might be too early…”
Me: “Nope; wouldn’t want to take a chance on that.” (Thinking: No way in hell would she deviate from the timeline that was established in her head since August.)
Her: “I just don’t want to chance it. But only if you’re sure you can make it over!” (Laughs nervously)
Me: “I’m sure.” (Sure that this isn’t the end of this conversation, not by a long shot)
Her: “Okay. Well make sure you take out the right turkey; it’s in the deep freezer and it’s the nineteen pound Butterball, because you know I only use Butterball for Thanksgiving.”
Me: “Got it.” (As opposed to accidentally taking out the small turkey breast or deli sandwich slices?)
I don’t have the energy to transcribe the entire forty-minute conversation that went down, but I have to included that she did call back ten minutes after we’d hung up to give me the garage door code “just in case,” and to remind me to make sure the refrigerator door was shut all the way, because sometimes that old fridge out in the garage, well, the door doesn’t always want to shut by itself.
I’ll skip the suspenseful part and just say I managed to get the job done.