My memories of thanksgiving as a very young boy were of my family gathering at Grandma Lena’s house with everyone bringing something - like Aunt Teresa’s mashed potato surprise that taught me that surprise isn't always a good thing. Or Grandma Lola’s salad wreath filled with fruit cocktail, that kept moving a good ten minutes after you set it down, much like Grandma Lola herself.
Our stuffing had sage and raisins in it, our mashed potatoes were so light and buttery they were known to turn heathens into saints on the spot. And our green beans were so greased up that our lips had a permanent sheen of lard gloss for three days. The Ravioli sauce had been cooking for forty-eight hours and Grandma Lena’s home made Ravioli’s consisted of calves brains, turkey breast and left over roast all ground together with spinach and cheese.
At each end of the table was a large wicker bottle of Claude’s home made wine. If every thirteen-year-old boy could get drunk on Claude’s homebrew, drinking would cease to be a problem in our land. The basic rule was “who eats the fastest eats the most”. Most of these meals were a full five-course extravaganza with no time allowed for bloating until you were on your way home. I remember riding home in the back seat of the car with my brother and sister next to me trying to not “flatulate” in the car (I usually failed). No one said anything cause we were all guilty at one time or another.
So this thanksgiving keep the tradition going whatever it may be and remember, If a fellow isn't thankful for what he's got, he isn't likely to be thankful for what he's going to get.
A thankful Bob
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