Here is a humorous story that was sent.  I'd like to pass it on with my own
Thanksgiving greeting to all.

Linda cg  Ben 69/5
[log in to unmask]



>>DON'S MOM AND THE TURKEY
>>
>>It all started in July at a grocery store promotion.  "How large is this
>>turkey?" the local grocery store asked.  Guesses ran to 30 pounds or so,
>but
>>actually it was 42 pounds.  This was, needless to say, a "large" turkey.
>But in
>>July, no one wanted the turkey, and it was put in the freezer till a more
>>auspicious time.
>>
>>And so it came to pass that Mom was in the store just before the Holidays
>in
>>1994, and since she is a naturally talkative person, she struck up a
>>conversation with the butcher at the counter.  "I need a kind of big
turkey
>for
>>my family coming," said Mom.  To which the butcher replied, "Well, if you
>are
>>looking for a big turkey, I may have just the thing."  And he hauled out
>the
>>42-pound bird for Mom.
>>
>>"Nice big bird," said Mom, "but it would cost far too much for my fixed
>income
>>budget."
>>
>>"Here's the deal," said the friendly butcher.  "I can't move this bird at
>all at
>>the usual price.  No one wants a bird this big, so tell you what I'll do.
>I'll
>>sell you this turkey for 49 cents a pound."
>>
>>Mom, being nobody's fool, thought that such a purchase would be entirely
>>reasonable.  After all, twenty bucks for a really BIG turkey would be a
>>reasonable price.  And besides, of such stuff are Really Neat Family
>Legends
>>made.  (Little did she know.)
>>
>>"Sold," said Mom.
>>
>>It took four days to thaw out.
>>
>>I showed up in Fargo two days before, and Mom was all a-twitter with ideas
>for
>>how to put on a family dinner tour de force.  We are talking "major"
>stuffing
>>here.  And so, off we went to the various stores to purchase dinner-making
>>stuff.
>>
>>Let me point out something important here.  No one makes a roasting bag to
>>handle a 40-pound turkey.  And few roasters can handle it either.  So we
>bought
>>one of those nifty open aluminum roasting pans, figuring to cover it with,
>oh,
>>an acre or two of aluminum foil.
>>
>>But there were some other interesting engineering problems to deal with.
>Like
>>how to lift it.  "No problem," said Mom, "we'll just get some cheesecloth,
>wrap
>>the bird in a kind of sling, and lift it that way."  Elegant solution.
>Mom,
>>methinks, has missed her true calling of engineer.
>>
>>And so, the Night Before, figuring we'd need a really long cooking time,
we
>>stuffed, slung, positioned, covered, vented the bird, and popped it in the
>oven
>>at about 1:30 a.m.  And so to bed, for a long winter's nap.  Wrong.
>>
>>At 3:15 a.m., I heard my Mom calling my name.  Now you have to understand,
>when
>>things are going well, I am "Don" to everyone, including Mom.  But when
>that is
>>not the case, I become "Donald."  And Mom has a special way of saying
>Donald.
>>"Donald," she said, "oh, Donald!"
>>
>>I responded groggily.  "What?  Whatsamatter?" I  know Mom, and waking
folks
>at
>>3:15 a.m. is just not her style.
>>
>>"Donald," she said, "we have a problem."
>>
>>"What," I responded, "problem do we have?"
>>
>>"Our turkey is running over," said Mom.  The shift from "the" turkey to
>"our"
>>turkey was subtly done, in retrospect.  At the time, it was effective.
>This was
>>now a joint crisis.
>>
>>For those who do not see such things clearly, it turns out that turkeys,
in
>the
>>process of cooking, release large quantities of juices, which for normal
>birds
>>often later becomes gravy.  For this bird, it had become a flood, and had
>>overflowed the all-too-shallow roasting pan into the bottom of a hot oven.
>>
>>Smoke.  Small apartment.  Smoke detectors at 3:16 a.m., roughly
>corresponding to
>>opening the oven door.  And cleaning turkey juices from the bottom of a
hot
>oven
>>at 3:19 a.m. is No Easy Thing, I can assure you.  Many towels, not of the
>paper
>>variety.  Even some other cloth materials I still do not recognize.  Mom
is
>>ready for any crisis of spill, it seems.
>>
>>And so it got cleaned up.   The towels got put in the washer at about 3:30
>a.m.,
>>the fans blew the smoke out of the apartment.  The smoke detectors got
>reset,
>>and so to bed, for an altogether shorter winter's nap.
>>
>>Wrong again.
>>
>>The turkey overflowed again at 5:20 a.m.  Same scenario, in all relevant
>ways.
>>We tried to suck up some of the juices from the roaster, but the turkey
>baster
>>bulb was bad, and wouldn't create a vacuum.  Smoke alarms, much general
>>good-natured grousing, and Mom standing around saying gratuitous things
>like,
>>"If I had known this would happen, I never would have bought that darned
>>turkey."
>>
>>There is no way an eldest son can respond to that appropriately, other
than
>with
>>variations on a theme of, "Oh, it's all right, Mom.  This is just Another
>Neat
>>Adventure on the Road of Life, and Someday We'll All Laugh At This
>Together."
>>So we each played our preordained roles in the crisis, and by that time,
it
>was
>>time to shower and shave and get ready for the siblings, grandchildren,
>etc.,
>>and just hang out.
>>
>>By about 11:30 a.m., the tiny kitchen was crowded with sisters, each
moving
>in a
>>mysterious choreography, getting in each other's way, using the Very Dish
>That I
>>Needed for things like glorified rice and other holiday dishes, and the
>general
>>buzz of Big Holiday Meal Preparation.
>>
>>And when the time came to lift the bird, out it came in Mom's cheesecloth
>sling,
>>just as nice as you please, and if I do say so myself, it looked like
>something
>>out of a Norman Rockwell painting on its platter.
>>
>>Much frenetic activity followed, including the required Making of the
Gravy
>from
>>what remained of the copious turkey juices in the bottom of the pan.  Mom
>is not
>>one of your cornstarch gravy people.  She does a flour paste, mixing it
>>thoroughly and putting it in a bowl, thereafter to be stirred into the
>gravy
>>juices for several minutes, and it really is quite wonderful.
>>
>>Now I have to tell you, I was standing right there, and I don't know how
it
>>happened.  But somehow, the white glass bowl with the flour/water mixture
>in it
>>ended up on top of the stove.  On a burner.  Which was on.  The bowl was
>opaque
>>white glass, not Pyrex, and not made for this kind of insult.
>>
>>And the bowl exploded.
>>
>>I don't mean cracked and fell apart, I mean "exploded," with a loud bang,
>and
>>the throwing waist-high of glass splinters mixed with flour and water all
>around
>>the kitchen, including onto the aforementioned hot burner, which promptly
>gave
>>off a cloud of smoke, setting off the aforementioned smoke alarms yet
>again,
>>which caused the smallest children to panic and cry -- well, you get the
>idea.
>>
>>Rising (well, stooping actually) to the occasion, I:
>>    a. turned off the burner
>>    b. threw everyone out of the kitchen
>>    c. disconnected the smoke alarm
>>    d. opened the windows
>>    e. started to clean up the mess
>>
>>Mom had been standing there all this time, watching this happen with an
air
>of
>>almost mystic detachment. I  was looking directly at her when she
recovered
>her
>>equanimity.  "Darn!" said Mom,  "That was my last flour.  I'll have to go
>to the
>>store and get some more."  And she put her coat on and out the door she
>went.
>>
>>Leaving yours truly to once again reorganize the scene.  And when she got
>back
>>with flour, about 15 minutes later, all was again In Order, and the day
>>progressed more or less uneventfully.
>>
>>The dinner was magnificent.  The quantity and quality of the leftovers
were
>>astonishing.  It was, in every possible way, An Event of Significance.
>>
>>But (you may already have surmised) it was Not Yet Over.
>>
>>Afterwards, the sisters took over the kitchen, cleaning everything up and
>>generally fulfilling the role of Dutiful Daughters (no sexism implied, as
I
>had
>>already fulfilled the role of Dutiful Son for most of the previous long
>winter's
>>night), packing the dishwasher, putting stuff away, etc.
>>
>>And, as it turned out, Turning On the Self-Cleaning Oven.
>>
>>Now, for those not familiar with the technology, SCOs heat themselves up
to
>a
>>relatively high temperature, lock themselves (this is important) with a
>solenoid
>>so that no one can open them again, then heat WAY up and literally burn
the
>>stuff off the inside, reducing it to a fine ash that can easily be wiped
>out or
>>even sucked out with a small vacuum cleaner.
>>
>>Remember the turkey juice that had overflowed?
>>
>>Well, there was still a fair amount of it left on the bottom of the oven.
>We
>>had not gotten around to sponging it out, and the late-arriving sister
>didn't
>>know that needed to be done.
>>
>>So, oven REALLY hot and locked, turkey juice on the bottom, and a vent for
>>excess heat.
>>
>>Smoke.
>>
>>Not just a little smoke; we are talking SMOKE here -- billows of smoke,
>clouds
>>of acrid smoke, really serious smoke.
>>
>>And the aforementioned smoke alarms, causing little children to panic and
>cry.
>>
>>Open windows, and smoke billows out.  Open doors to hallway, and smoke
>fills the
>>entire apartment complex.  Which, of course, has its own smoke alarms and
>>automatic fire department call relays.
>>
>>And we can't open the oven, which takes a while to cool down, and still
>pours
>>smoke out the vents.
>>
>>So, smoke, alarms, neighbors, fire department folks.  We gave them all
some
>>fudge, put fans in the windows, and assured everyone that The Situation is
>>Temporary and Really Under Control.  Mom moved wraith-like through it all,
>and
>>kept saying "Boy, we're going to remember this one for a long time."
>>
>>______________________________
>