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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." >> >>______________________________ >