Tag Archives: Thanksgiving

1680. Forever grateful

Fergus was a little bit of a loner. He kept to himself quite a bit. It’s not that he was anti-social. He would say hello most courteously when greeted by a neighbour over the fence or in the supermarket. But he liked his own space and the neighbours respected that.

No one knew much about him. He never seemed to have visitors or family call. He seemed happy enough in his garden. He had, he once told next-door neighbours Mr and Mrs Wilburton, retired from work a good seven or eight years ago. He had been “self-employed”.

It was the Wilburtons who had gone out of their way to invite Fergus to their Thanksgiving dinner. Fergus accepted, and for the last four years he had enjoyed Thanksgiving with the Wilburton family.

But all good things must come to an end. It was a sad day when Fergus died. Quite swiftly. He’d been ill for a week. Things were not going to be quite the same without Fergus at Thanksgiving.

When Thanksgiving did arrive the phone rang. It was Fergus’s attorney. Fergus had left them four million eight hundred thousand and forty-two dollars and a card that simply said “THANK YOU”.

What excitement! Once the lawyer’s fees and the Tax Department were dealt with it was time to go on the trip of a lifetime they had only ever dreamt about. They went to Africa! There, Mrs Wilburton contracted malaria and died, which could never have happened without Fergus’s generosity.

1475. Bon appetit!

It was Thanksgiving, and Fred and Jaime Burtwhistle had much to be thankful for, although they couldn’t agree on what their next step in life together was to be. Fred’s Great Aunt Donnabelle, whom they loved very much for obvious reasons, had died and left them a gigantic fortune. It was such a pleasure to be able to spend money and not have their nosy great aunt overseeing. Waiting for her to die had taken years.

Then there was Jaime’s Aunt Mabel to be thankful for. She would never shut up. Talk talk talk. She had a motor accident at some stage during the year and lost the ability to talk. What a relief! What a blessing!

Jaime’s father was a chronic alcoholic and they had put him in a care center of some sort for drunks. It was going to be good not having him around on Thanksgiving to ruin everything.

Fred’s mother, a widow, was a nut case. She had been “institutionalized”. Hopefully in a padded cell. You’ve no idea how embarrassing that woman could be.

So indeed there was much for Fred and Jaime Burtwhistle to be grateful for this Thanksgiving. They had no children, so it was to be just the two of them. Of course, they couldn’t agree on how best to spend Great Aunt Donnabelle’s inheritance. To solve this disagreeable problem Fred had poisoned the cranberry sauce, and Jaime had poisoned the pumpkin pie.

Bon appetit!

1183. A day to celebrate!

What an incredible day! Amazing! A day indeed of Thanksgiving!

God was so pleased with the way the people of the United States of America had behaved over the past year that he made a decree that nothing (not even a gnat) would die on Thanksgiving Day. How He got this message across remains a mystery, but He did.

The Clancy Family were especially delighted; Leighton Clancy in particular. He’d been feeling ill for some time and knew his days were numbered. The family had not been in celebration mode, so to get a reprieve for Thanksgiving! What a relief! What a joy! Nothing would die on Thanksgiving Day! Not even a firefly! Not even a flea! This was indeed a cause to celebrate! A feast!

Leighton Clancy went out and chopped the head off the turkey.

Happy Thanksgiving to all my American friends!

P.S. Mrs Clancy had the devil of a time stuffing the turkey. The damn thing wouldn’t keep still.

Poem 52: Gobbler’s lament

(The form chosen for this week is the rondel).

‘Twas the eve of Thanksgiving Day.
I’m not at all grateful, he said.
There’s no fun in losing one’s head,
Then roasted and carved on a tray;

Sage stuffed up your bum all the way
With mushrooms and spice mixed with bread.
‘Twas the eve of Thanksgiving Day.
I’m not at all grateful, he said.

So how would you like, come what may,
To be basted when you are dead?
Thank God for this turkey well-fed,
Big drumsticks, plump breast, they all pray.
‘Twas the eve of Thanksgiving Day.
I’m not at all grateful, he said.

1023. A goose for Christmas

1023goose

Annabelle was a bit of a snob when it came to cooking for a festal day. There was always the turkey at Thanksgiving and Christmas and hers was always bigger and better than anyone else’s.

“Oh, your turkey sounds awful. Ours was delightful! And the stuffing!”

But on a particular Christmas, Annabelle had the chance to replace the traditional turkey with a traditional goose.

“Oh, are you having humdrum turkey? That’s very run-of-the-mill. We’re having goose. Hubert’s getting one from the farmer down the road.”

Annabelle had never done a goose before. Being a domestic goose and not a wild one, it had plenty of wonderful goose fat. But who cared? Christmas came but once a year.

The goose fat overflowed in the roasting pan. The oven caught on fire. The house caught on fire. The whole shebang burnt down.

“She certainly cooked her own goose,” observed a witty neighbour.

Annabelle didn’t think that funny at all. Some people have no sense of humour.

777. Euphrasie’s Thanksgiving

777usa

To be honest, Euphrasie wasn’t that old; just in her mid-sixties one would imagine. People thought of her as old because she’d lived in the corner house for as far back as anyone could remember. She used to live with her husband, but he’d died a few years back. Her only child, Ralph, was killed in an industrial accident. No one could remember much about the husband or the son.

Euphrasie used to love Thanksgiving. It was her favorite day of the year; the ritual of food and family. Now there was only her. She tried to make some effort to celebrate. A little wine; a little fresh fruit and ice cream. But a slice of cold turkey from the supermarket was not quite the same as a large roasted bird. Euphrasie thought “Blow it! I’m going to cook a turkey!”

She was about to place the turkey in the oven and… there was a knock on the door. It was the young newly-weds from over the road. The in-laws were coming and the turkey hadn’t defrosted. Did Euphrasie know of a quick way to thaw?

“I’ve just the thing for you,” said Euphrasie.

And if they truth be known, she rather enjoyed her tin of tuna on a slice of ever-so-slightly burnt toast; with a little wine or two, while watching an old black and white repeat on tele of I Love Lucy.

Music 60: American Thanksgiving

60thanksgiving

Happy Thanksgiving, tomorrow, to my American friends!

Here, in New Zealand, we don’t have Thanksgiving. It is Springtime! But my family still celebrate it with Turkey and Pumpkin Pie! It’s a vestige of having lived in Massachusetts and North Carolina!

Of course, we don’t kill the turkeys at this time of year, even though there are lots of wild ones about; they’ve all got babies!

And if I may on this day give another blogger a Thanksgiving pat-on-the-back: visit Cynthia Jobin and read (and listen) to her Turkey poem. Below is my poor effort at reading it, but Cynthia’s version deserves a drum(stick) roll.