Grandma's Thanksgiving Invitation

Adapted from something that came across the internet. Don't know the author...

Dear Family,                                                                             

I know some of you probably think I left this earth, because you haven’t heard from me in a while. Maybe if you’d picked up the phone, you’d have discovered I’m still around.

Thanksgiving is important to me. If being in my Last Will and Testament is important to you, you’ll probably want to be here to celebrate that I’m still above ground.

Dinner is at 2:00. Not 2:30. Not 3:00. The only thing reheating in the oven after we sit down will be the pies.

Last year, Marshall heard from his neighbor that frying a turkey in one of those contraptions made the best turkey anyone ever tasted. He almost burned the deck off my house. This year, the only peanut oil used in the meal will be the secret scoop of peanut butter I add to the carrot soup.

Jonathan, don’t arrive at someone’s house on Thanksgiving with a new wife we haven’t met who has to run to the bathroom to put on her makeup before she’s even introduced. Honest to God, I thought you’d learned after two wives – date them longer and save us all the agony of another divorce.

There will be paper plates and red Solo cups this year. They might be bad for the environment, but most of your kids have never eaten off good china, except at my house, and things always get broken.

The television stays off during the meal. I don’t care whose alma mater is playing in a bowl game!

There will be no soda cans for the kids. We will use 2-liter bottles because your children open a third can before finishing the first two. Parents, fill your children’s cups when they are empty. The cups will have names on them so there’s no excuse for anyone drinking from someone else’s cup.

Cloe, last year I looked the other way when your marshmallow fluff salad showed up. This year, if that salad comes in the front door it will go out the back door with the garbage. Save yourself some time, honey. You’ve never been a good cook and you shouldn’t bring something that wiggles more than you. Buy something from the bakery.

Grandmothers give grandchildren cookies and candy. That is a fact of life. Your children can eat healthy at your house. At mine, they can eat whatever they like as long as they clean their plates.

I cook with bacon and bacon grease. Your being a vegan doesn’t change the fact that stuffing without bacon is like egg salad without eggs. Even the green bean casserole has a little bacon grease in it. That’s why you like it. As far as being healthy – I’ve lived longer than all of you and I have bacon every mornin’!

Green salad at Thanksgiving is a waste of space on your plate.

Cell phones must be left in the car. No-one’s going to try to reach you from work because no-one will be at work. The important people in your life won’t be trying to reach you, either. They’ll be sitting right next to you.

Being a parent means you’ve got to pay attention to your kids! I won’t hide my stuff because toddlers are coming over. Mary, teach Gregory not to touch anything that isn’t his.

Rhonda, a cat that requires a shot twice a day is a cat that’s lived too many lives. I think staying home to care for the cat is your way of letting me know that I’ve lived too many lives. Will your cat be naming you in its will?

Words mean things. Consider the consequences of your words before you speak. I don’t want any yelling at the table or grudge matches after the holiday.

If I tell you I really don’t need anything, it means you really don’t need to bring anything. If you are bringing something, please listen when I tell you the quantity. Really, this doesn’t have to be difficult.

Dominos and cards are better than anything that requires a battery or an off/on switch. That was true when I grew up and it’s why my generation had so many geniuses.

Showing up for Thanksgiving guarantees a gift at Christmas. Not showing up guarantees a card that may or may not be signed.

Discussion of election results anywhere in the U.S. or anything that has to do with politics is forbidden.

In memory of your grandfather, the back fridge will be filled with beer. You’re welcome to indulge, but one from each family will be responsible for driving without drinking.

And that’s about it for ground-rules. Don’t forget what you’re thankful for – I’ll be askin’!

I hope everyone has a great turkey day.

Love, Grandma

Cooking the Turkey

     Growing up, I didn't help my mother cook.  There was a good reason  - my mother hated cooking and the dinners she served consisted of things like frozen fish sticks warmed in the oven or creamed eggs on toast. These were not things I enjoyed eating, let alone cooking!

     For holidays,  we usually went to my father's side of the family in New Jersey.  There, my mother didn't have to cook anything.  My grandfather, Lucius  (can you believe that name?), and his wife (whom we called "Aunt Marion," since he was a widower and she was his third wife but we adored her!) hired a cook and her son and daughter-in-law to run everything in the kitchen.  We had both sets of grandparents there, and sometimes my two aunts with their families.  When Mary sent word came from the kitchen that the turkey was ready for carving, we all gathered in the dining room at a large mahogany table with wall paneling to match. My grandfather disappeared into the kitchen and re-emerged to "Ooh"-ing and "Ahh"-ing with a platter boasting the gigantic turkey, browned and crisp that Mary had put in the oven at 5 a.m.. Lucius placed the platter on a sideboard and flourished his weapons (carving knife and fork), telling us to watch his time-honored method.  As he sliced deep next to the breastbone, white juices followed the sluice. Our mouths salivated.  After each slice, he raised the shimmering knife and fork head-high and brought them down again into the tender breast. When the slices and dressing covered a serving platter, Mary's son appeared to hold the platter so each of us could help himself.  My grandfather stepped on a button in the floor and the side dishes began to appear, Mary's daughter-in-law rotating through the swinging kitchen door with her husband.

     So when I got married, Charley knew he'd be my guinea pig.  He married me anyway.  I tried simple meals first, like baked boneless chicken breast with a slice of orange on top (I called it "chicken a l'orange") or omelettes, usually burned on the bottom but runny in the center.  Somehow, Charley forgave me and kept eating whatever was put before him.

     On our first Thanksgiving we were stationed at Dover Air Force Base, Delaware. One of Charley's four brothers came down for a visit.  I attempted my first turkey - a boneless roast.  I didn't dare attempt cooking the entire bird.  I took the roast out of the freezer Thanksgiving morning, put it in the oven in the early afternoon, and proceeded to make the apple pie, mashed potatoes, and beans.

     When I put the browned roast on a platter for carving, Charley's flourish of weapons didn't exactly resemble my grandfather's.  In fact, his knife got stuck in the center, where it was still frozen solid.  I put the boneless breast back in the oven and we continued drinking.

     After the meal, I asked Charley's brother how he liked the apple pie.  He said, "Well, the apples were good" (meaning the crust was a soggy pile of dough). That taught me never to ask a guest's opinion of my cooking!

Someone else's apple pie without soggy crust

     After that, I bought Julia Child's Mastering the Art of French Cooking.  It taught me a lot about sauces and what wines to serve with what, but didn't teach me how to cook a turkey.  This was in the dark ages, before I could Google "How do I cook a turkey?"

     After a couple of more years in the Air Force, we lived in New England.  We went to Charley's parents' house for Thanksgiving and Christmas Eve. All I had to do was buy some pies.

     Then we had kids.  I'd already graduated to chicken parmesan, rib roasts, and lasagna, so I brazenly bought my first whole turkey to cook on Christmas.  I made the stuffing and put it in a casserole dish because one of my girlfriends had told me it was unsafe (bacteria-wise) to put it in the cavity of the turkey.  I weaved together the legs and tail with metal skewers and dutifully basted the bird every hour. Charley brandished his weapons to carve, reading from instructions on a sheet I'd picked up at the grocery store.  It was a repeat of Delaware.  The center inside was still frozen, where the bag of unthawed giblets hid.

     It was The Joy of Cooking that finally gave me specific instructions, but to this day my kids claim they suffered with my cooking.  I blame it on my mom, who can't answer.

This year's side dishes

The Gift

Enjoy the following post by pharmacist, mystery writer, friend Don Weiss.
I wish all of you a Happy Thanksgiving with those you love!   Pam

                                                                           

                                                       The Gift

Today, with your indulgence, I would like to wax philosophic. When you’re in your sixties, I believe it’s your God given right—so here goes.

Even in my state of hiatus from labor (sounds better than being out of work) I have many blessings to be thankful for. I have a wonderful wife, two terrific step-children and a lovely daughter-in-law. With the exception of a few age-related problems, my heath is good and I’ve been given the ability to play the piano. Nothing beats sitting down at my 102-year-old Steinway grand and that feeling of peace and contentment that washes over me when I play something by Chopin or Debussy. 

Have you ever considered the miracle that is the piano? In the hands of an artist it is capable of producing a wide variety of tones and sound with such nuance and finesse. The debt I owe to my teachers, Tanya Royshteyn (who gave me the fundamentals), and Judith Burganger (who gave me the music), cannot be re-paid.

The ancestor of the piano was an instrument called the Pantalon; an invention by a man called Pantaleon Hebenstreit from Leipzig. It was essentially a hammered dulcimer with a double sound board. It was six feet long and had 200 strings arranged as singles, pairs and triplets. It was capable of a full chromatic scale and had over five octaves, and most important of all, it could produce loud and soft tones unlike the organ or the harpsichord. The father of the modern piano was the Italian, Bartolomeo Cristofori, who developed the precursor to the modern hammer mechanism found in every piano.

It was Mozart who adopted the piano as an instrument for performance, and the German manufacturer, Steinway, who made it accessible to everyone. Modern artists like Artur Rubenstein, Claudio Arau, Vladislav Richter and Vladamir Horowitz  brought it to life. The great black pianists like Jelly Roll Morton, Fats Waller, James P. Johnson, Scot Joplin and Eubie Blake took it to an entirely new level with Ragtime and Jazz.

I can trace my own instrument to the day it left the Steinway factory in New York, and in its 102 year old life, I’m only its third owner. The molds used to form the case are still in use at Steinway and the metal plate was forged in Steinway’s own foundry. The ebony keys are original. Most of the action is original as are all of the hinges, and pedals. The heart of the instrument, the sound board, was in perfect shape when I found it.

Osteo-arthritis in my little fingers prevents me from playing powerful octaves or performing great leaps like I used to or tackling more demanding works, but I still play slower, quieter, pieces with the same satisfaction and pleasure. It’s seen me through a whole host of dark days. That’s what I call a blessing.

The Holiday Dinner

This spoof posted on UTube has Sandy and Richard Riccardi performing in California.
Lyrics are by Sandy.  Parody is USCOPYRIGHT:FAIRUSE.
Click on this link to view Sandy singing and Richard on the piano:  http://www.youtube.com/embed/TX9EAavxrus

(To the tune of "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer")                            
I made turkey and stuffing
And hot mashed potatoes,
Yams and ham
And fried green tomatoes.                                                                  
But I had forgot...
What family could have and have not!

Stanley could not have cheddar
'Cuz it clashes with his meds.
Lee's on a low-carb diet,
Couldn't sample any breads.
Anya could not have onions
'Cuz they fill her up with gas.
Elsie could not have eggnog
'Cuz it knocks her on her ass!

I made Martha Stewart's tart,
Sweet and high-falutin'
That six people couldn't eat
Because it con-tained gluten.

Sherman could not have shellfish,
Or he would asphyxiate.
There wasn't one damn item
That could stay on Linda's plate!

My souffle was a masterpiece,
So light and airy!
But my guests couldn't eat it
'Cuz no-one ate dairy.

I broke down and wept.
If you're vegan, then why'd you accept?

Penny got on her podium.  On
And on and on she went...
About the evils of sodium (plus
How she's lactose-intolerant).

Peter was prone to bloating,
Couldn't eat the broccoli.
Annie gets acid reflux,
Every time she looks at me!

When I put the turkey down,
Sarah had to say,
"Ever since the world began,
I can't eat no tryptophan."

Everyone at the table, getting
Up in years, you see,
Skipped the meal all together,
Talked about their surgeries!

So I said, "Pass the Beano
And pour me some vino
And screw it, next year,
YOUR house, please!"