Thanksgiving Rundown

A storm had been predicted for Wednesday, the day before Thanksgiving. This is the day that the newscasters incessantly remind us that it is “the most traveled day of the year”. As the predicted storm approached, so did the panic in voices of the increasingly frenetic weather forecasters (i.e. it was going to be Armageddon). Since those in my family that had to travel (Jake and Rachael) were due to come home on Tuesday, I didn't see this as my problem. I decided I would save my compassion for Christmas. Maybe.

On Tuesday, Jake made it home by dinner, taking close to an hour longer than the normal three hour drive. Helaina had gone to pick up Rachael at the bus station and Rachael ended up stumbling in around eight o’clock- taking close to four hours longer than her normal four hour bus ride. Shortly thereafter, Helaina left for her boyfriend’s and everyone but Jake headed off to bed.

On Wednesday, I left for work, arriving a little before seven in the morning and there wasn't any snow in sight. By ten o'clock, the snow had started, or rather, the snow and sleet had started. By eleven o’clock, it was coming down pretty good and I was thinking about heading home. By noon, I was heading home.

After a slippery hour and a half drive, I arrived home and soon everyone else in the family was home too.

The plan for the holiday was that we were going to have Thanksgiving at Grandma’s on Thursday, an informal Thanksgiving for our family at lunchtime on Friday, and then Rachael would have to head back on Friday, late afternoon. Since we wouldn't see Rachael again until Christmas, and since it was in the middle of a blizzard and the driving conditions were treacherous, it seemed like a pretty good time to head out to the tree farm to get our Christmas tree.

I called the tree farm and asked if they were open and after a long pause, they said that yes, they were. So, we bundled up and headed off in the van. Amazingly, when we arrived, we were the only ones there.

Normally, we would walk around to the back field where we would search for the perfect tree. Since it was a blizzard, and since I had a bad knee and the idea of kneeling in rapidly piling up snow and not being able to stand up again didn't appeal to me, we headed to the barn where the owners keep their pre-cut trees. This would normally be heresy.

Going to a tree farm to pick out a pre-cut tree is one step shy of driving through the trees in your car and pointing at the tree you want someone else to cut down. But the snow wasn't letting up and neither was my knee.

In no time at all, a tree was selected, paid for, and slung on the roof of the van. We headed home at a brisk fifteen miles per hour.

Due to the weather, we brought the tree right into the house- wet snow and all, and trimmed it for the tree stand. Normally I have to do some judicious pruning of some of the lower branches in order to get the tree to sit correctly. This can be risky. More than once, I have reduced a full and natural looking tree to one that looked like it was an artificial tree put on clearance due to it’s missing parts. More than once, I've heard, “Don’t worry, we can fill it in with tinsel.”

But this tree was in pretty good shape. After squaring of the once proud trunk and clipping only a few minor branches, it was in the stand and shoved into the corner. Later that evening when the tree had dried enough to reduce the risk of electrocution, we strung the lights.

Sam asked about decorating the tree and I told him that we would either decorate it after Grandma's tomorrow or we would decorate it Friday morning after I got the turkey into the oven. I couldn't say for sure because I didn't know how tired everyone would be, plus we were on a tight schedule.

Snow continued to fall, heavy and wet, into the evening. The trees in our front yard draped precariously over the power lines. I watched out the front door, thinking of a few years back when we lost power for days. Back then, I worried about the pork butt going bad. Now, I was worrying about the turkey. It’s always something.

We made out pretty well. While many in the surrounding area lost power, some for days as it turned out, we survived with little more than several very brief flickers. This proved to be little more than an annoyance for most of us- me resetting clocks continually and Rachael being interrupted in her pie-a-thon, for example. But such was not the case for Sam.

Sam was watching his usual videos on the computer and every time the power would flicker off, the computer would shut down. This caused no end of frustration for Sam, and therefore for the rest of us- until it boiled over and Sam muttered to himself, “This is stupid.”

Things fell silent. If there were crickets this time of year, this is the point where they would have been cricketing.

Sam rarely gets upset and saying “stupid” is about as vulgar as he gets. Luckily, Sam had the family around to support him and tell him he was wrong and to knock it off. He went upstairs to take a shower, leaving the rest of us in utter shock over his disturbing emotional outburst.

When he came back downstairs, Sam duly, though completely unnecessarily, apologized, and spent the little time left before bedtime, watching the videos he tried to watch earlier.

The snow had stopped by Thursday morning and though it was heavy, I had a lot of help shoveling. When it was cleared, Rachael and I went out to get gas in the van before we headed to Grandma’s.

After filling up at the gas station, we pulled out, only to hear a scraping sound coming from under the van. Clearly, something was dragging along the road. I was worried it was the muffler or the tailpipe, so I pulled off on a nearby side street and climbed under to take a look.

It turned out that it wasn't the muffler, as I had feared. But instead, it was only the bracket that was supposed to hold up the fuel tank. Apparently the weight of the gas was enough to break the mostly rotted bracket off on one end, while the other end was still attached somewhere underneath the van. I figured I better twist it off completely, since metal sparks shooting at a precariously hanging, full tank of gasoline didn't seem like a good idea to me. Especially on Thanksgiving.

We made it back home and Helaina and I drove everyone to Grandma’s while the van sat in the backyard for the rest of the weekend.

We had Thanksgiving dinner, or rather, Thanksgiving lunch at Grandma’s retirement community, in a building affectionately referred to as “The Inn.” The Inn is about the only place big enough to accommodate all of us, even though the size of this gang was probably about half of what it is at most Christmases- what with my brother’s family not being there and one of my sister’s family family not being there and at least one additional niece not being there. Still, it was a big enough group.

We squeezed into a semi-private room, around tables set up, oddly, in a “U” shape. At first it felt a little strange. I imagined that those sitting inside the “U” must have felt a little like they were on a stage. I was glad to be sitting in the audience. But it turned out that this arrangement was not only plenty accommodating, it had the added advantage of me not having to look at everyone else all at the same time.

After lunch, we went back to Grandma’s where we set up her fake mini Christmas tree and we complained about how full we were as we ate the pie that Rachael had made the night before. My sister Laura dragged out some bizarre concoction that she claimed she made from beets and some other weird fruits and as if to prove that it was at least non-toxic, Rachael took a swig with no visible side effects. Still, despite this brave display, there were no additional takers. The bottle was set in the kitchen where it will presumably stay until sometime next summer, when someone decides to strip some furniture.

We ended the family get together the same way we end all our family get togethers- by trying to figure out who drew who’s name for Christmas. This has become a family tradition- whether it’s at the summer gathering or pretty much any other time of the year. And just like every other time the question comes up, there was a lot of discussion but nothing got resolved. It's almost like some kind of a game show, but I think it would enhance the game play if blindfolds were involved.

Back at home, Sam asked again about decorating the tree and he seemed almost relieved when I told him that it would have to wait until the next day. He went to bed at his usual time. Helaina, exhausted, went to bed about then, too. Jake went to bed a little later and then got up again to talk with his girlfriend, and Rachael went out to visit with an old friend. I stayed up until she got home.

I had set my alarm for six o’clock in the morning and unfortunately it went off without a glitch. I went downstairs and did my usual turkey prep- which traditionally includes ignoring all advice on how to properly stuff a turkey and instead cramming in as much stuffing as physically possible- just shy of making the turkey burst. Every year, as I’m shoving in the stuffing, I wonder if the turkey could ever have imagined ending up in this situation. And every year, with each fistful of stuffing, I give my own silent thanks that I am not the turkey.

Once the turkey was in the oven and everyone was awake, we set about decorating our tree. Since the tree was a little smaller this year and since we were on a tight schedule, we used about half the ornaments that we usually do, but we all agreed that it looked just fine- which is to say, no one was complaining.

While the tree was getting decorated I popped in and out of the kitchen to check on the turkey. When it comes to cooking a turkey that has to be done by a specific time, my skills are limited. I find that as dinner gets closer, I’m constantly adjusting the oven temperature.

In years past, the turkey would get done too quickly and I would have to slow it down because the kids would be at the high school football game. Or I might have slowed it down too much and it wasn’t going to be ready when everything else was ready so I would be twisting the temperature back up.

The process always feels a little like I’m trying to land a small airplane during a blinding snowstorm. I know the destination is out there somewhere, and with a little luck we may land somewhere nearby- but there’s no guarantee about what our final condition will be when it’s all over.

Everything seemed to go reasonably well and all the food got done somewhere close to the same time. We all squeezed around our large dining room table which sits in our tiny dining room and we each gave thanks and had our “informal” Thanksgiving dinner- which meant having pretty much everything we normally have, minus a couple of dishes, and eating it all faster.

After dinner, Jake took off to the college to watch the football game and to spend time with his girlfriend (not necessarily in that order), and Helaina and I drove Rachael to Northampton to catch her bus back to The Big City. We arrived too early and decided to hit up a couple of stores, even though it was “Black Friday”. In reality, the town didn't seem any different to me than any other day- the same pleasant crowds as always.

After going to one or two stores, it was getting late and we walked back to the car to wait for the bus. The breeze had picked up and the air was dry in that biting winter kind of way, and by the time the bus showed up, it had started to get dark. All of this seemed very appropriate to me. Rachael climbed on the bus and Helaina and I headed back home.

Back home, Helaina took off for her boyfriend’s, Sam watched his videos, and I sat and stared at the tree and listened to the quiet.

On Saturday, Sam and I did our usual late-morning errands, which includes going to two grocery stores- even though the last thing we needed was more food. But it always gives me the chance to spend time with Sam and it gives Sam the chance to get free samples.

Saturday afternoon was spent doing some more baking- for some God unknown reason. I had no idea why I was doing it, because we clearly had too much food already. To make matters worse, on Sunday, I noticed we had some bananas starting to turn brown and I remembered that I had some leftover buttermilk in the refrigerator. In my mind, this was an opportunity to free up a quart-sized space in the refrigerator. In reality, I ended up having to deal with four loaves of banana bread.

On top of this, I decided to make fudge. Many years ago, this began as a semi-tradition around Christmas time- but that was back when there were people around to eat it. Even though I like fudge, I eat maybe two pieces of fudge a year. I do not eat two, nine inch square pans worth of anything, let alone fudge.

So by Sunday afternoon, in addition to all of the food left over from Thanksgiving, I had now had to deal with four loaves of banana bread, about 6 pounds of Chex mix and a couple of pounds of fudge- and that’s not to mention the big pot of turkey parts that had been boiling away on the stove.

By Sunday night, I had pretty much had it. All of the food had been stored or stuffed in various places around the house. I put away all of the now dry dishes that I washed earlier in the day, and I washed all of the dirty dishes and all of the dirty pans that had filled the sink.

All that was left was to drop off the van at the mechanic’s. And to figure out what to make for dinner.