[type your title here]
Happy almost turkey day!
;D
Last Thanksgiving- A True-Blue Story
Last Thanksgiving was rather interesting.
Mom was ill, so, for once, we were at home, without any relatives near. The sun had not yet set when we sat down for the Feast.
“Why are we eating so early?” I asked, glancing out the newly cleaned dining room window.
“Dat ‘s wud dey do odb Danksgivig.” my mother replied, by which she meant, “That’s what they do on Thanksgiving.”
“But, why?” I persisted, determined to know.
“It’s tradition, Meg.” Father said, making me feel sure that he didn’t know.
“Mom?” she’d probably know.
“Id’s supposed to be a lawrge bmeal, so everyoned eats it inbeteen lundchtimbe and dinner timbe. Id’s a linnder” She said, in between large sneezes. What she meant, was “It’s supposed to be a large meal, so everyone eats it in between lunchtime and dinnertime. It’s a linner.”
“O.” I took a sip of sparkling cider, letting the bubbles eddy about on my tongue, making me feel very tickled.
“Not yet, Megan!” Dad admonished me, glaring as I set my glass down sheepishly.
“Sorry.”
We held hands and listened solemnly as Father prayed. At “Amen.”, Kaitlyn let out an odd squeal, and said, “Let’s eat!” generating a laugh from us.
We all passed our plates down to Dad, who served us the turkey. When my plate was passed back to me, I stared down at the piece of turkey, and gave it a telepathic, “Hello” and “Sorry”. I took my knife, and make a small kerf into the poor guy. Another telepathic “Sorry” as I stared down at the laceration. Poor turkey. I took the fork into my right hand, and slooowly perforated the small piece I had cut off him, and popped it into my mouth.
Ugh. The turkey was amazingly dry. What did they do to him when they killed him? I wondered. Did they like, suck out all the juices? With what? All sorts of machines popped into my head, and, as I quaffed sparkling cider, I contemplated the demise of my dinner.
“Megaaan! Will you pass me the gravy?” Kaitlyn asked me.
“Oh, yeah. Sure. Hold on.” I took the gravy and poured it liberally onto my poor turkey piece, then handed it to my sister.
Ignoring Kaitlyn’s complaints that I had “used all the gravy,” I sent another message to Mr. Turkeypeice. “Here. Have some juices. I’m sorry that they sucked all of yours out.”
He looked much better. Tasted better, too. As my taste buds were filled with the different taste of turkey, I could almost hear him say : “Thanks.”
I smiled to myself, and packed away the last bite. ”Rest in peace, turkey.”
;D
Last Thanksgiving- A True-Blue Story
Last Thanksgiving was rather interesting.
Mom was ill, so, for once, we were at home, without any relatives near. The sun had not yet set when we sat down for the Feast.
“Why are we eating so early?” I asked, glancing out the newly cleaned dining room window.
“Dat ‘s wud dey do odb Danksgivig.” my mother replied, by which she meant, “That’s what they do on Thanksgiving.”
“But, why?” I persisted, determined to know.
“It’s tradition, Meg.” Father said, making me feel sure that he didn’t know.
“Mom?” she’d probably know.
“Id’s supposed to be a lawrge bmeal, so everyoned eats it inbeteen lundchtimbe and dinner timbe. Id’s a linnder” She said, in between large sneezes. What she meant, was “It’s supposed to be a large meal, so everyone eats it in between lunchtime and dinnertime. It’s a linner.”
“O.” I took a sip of sparkling cider, letting the bubbles eddy about on my tongue, making me feel very tickled.
“Not yet, Megan!” Dad admonished me, glaring as I set my glass down sheepishly.
“Sorry.”
We held hands and listened solemnly as Father prayed. At “Amen.”, Kaitlyn let out an odd squeal, and said, “Let’s eat!” generating a laugh from us.
We all passed our plates down to Dad, who served us the turkey. When my plate was passed back to me, I stared down at the piece of turkey, and gave it a telepathic, “Hello” and “Sorry”. I took my knife, and make a small kerf into the poor guy. Another telepathic “Sorry” as I stared down at the laceration. Poor turkey. I took the fork into my right hand, and slooowly perforated the small piece I had cut off him, and popped it into my mouth.
Ugh. The turkey was amazingly dry. What did they do to him when they killed him? I wondered. Did they like, suck out all the juices? With what? All sorts of machines popped into my head, and, as I quaffed sparkling cider, I contemplated the demise of my dinner.
“Megaaan! Will you pass me the gravy?” Kaitlyn asked me.
“Oh, yeah. Sure. Hold on.” I took the gravy and poured it liberally onto my poor turkey piece, then handed it to my sister.
Ignoring Kaitlyn’s complaints that I had “used all the gravy,” I sent another message to Mr. Turkeypeice. “Here. Have some juices. I’m sorry that they sucked all of yours out.”
He looked much better. Tasted better, too. As my taste buds were filled with the different taste of turkey, I could almost hear him say : “Thanks.”
I smiled to myself, and packed away the last bite. ”Rest in peace, turkey.”