(Please keep reading for the thank you.)
I first made friends with a frozen turkey years ago in a small rent house, in a kitchen so tiny I could rest my elbows on all cabinet tops-simultaneously.
Opening the oven door, while standing in the kitchen, was an exercise
in hip placement.
Side note: Young married people today skip vitally important steps in the early marriage process.
Whatever happened to living in a garage apartment teetering on top of a carport?
It was during those early days, my personal theory of turkey cooking was forged .
Here it is.
*A turkey is a turkey is a turkey…it is what it is… hence the Riverside turkey at HEB , is a respectable choice.
*Turkeys are so inexpensive, if I want to change my mind and buy a Butterball I can.
*I can create my own Butterball with a stick of butter.
*An alarm does not go off- nor do men in black suits and dark glasses appear at my door-
if I do NOT
the thawing instructions on the package.
*When returning from the grocery store, the trip from the car to the kitchen,
while holding onto a 25 pound frozen turkey,
is a lonely trip.
*No one in the house is listening to your screams for help.
*Thinking ‘I can’t drop this on my foot’ helps .
*Setting an alarm for 5:30 am Thanksgiving morning, to put the turkey in the oven, is an act of love.
*Removing the still partially frozen package of giblets, from inside the turkey, at that hour is something else entirely.
*Tenting a turkey perfectly, to keep it from browning too soon, is the common man’s (woman’s) culinary reward.
*An avocado green, 70’s electric knife is the best way to carve a turkey.
*The minute the football watchers hear that magical mini-chain saw sound, they begin to move.
I can’t wait.
A Humble Thank You
The day of my husband’s surgery, while sitting in the waiting room, I felt relaxed and even sleepy.
I wondered for a moment about this,
and then I remembered…
“They are ALL praying.”
YOU were praying…
with teachers and friends and priests and church friends and
daughters and educational facilitators and trainers and colleagues.
And then I thought of this.
I sing a song of the saints of God,
patient and brave and true,
who toiled and fought and lived and died
for the Lord they loved and knew.
And one was a doctor, and one was a queen,
and one was a shepherdess on the green;
they were all of them saints of God, and I mean,
God helping, to be one too.
They loved their Lord so dear, so dear,
and his love made them strong;
and they followed the right for Jesus' sake
the whole of their good lives long.
And one was a soldier, and one was a priest,
and one was slain by a fierce wild beast;
and there's not any reason, no, not the least,
why I shouldn't be one too.
They lived not only in ages past;
there are hundreds of thousands still.
The world is bright with the joyous saints
who love to do Jesus' will.
You can meet them in school, on the street, in the store,
in church, by the sea, in the house next door;
they are saints of God, whether rich or poor,
and I mean to be one too.