Thanks

Lots to be thankful for this month. Perfect daughter returned safely yesterday from her month-long tour of Japan, China and South Korea. While I understand that trips like that are once-in-a-lifetime, and that she was able to experience (due to the generosity of her hosts) events and experiences that Americans seldom see or participate in, it wasn't easy at all times. Even leaving out the ten different public baths that she had to squirm politely through, the interesting sea creatures that other cultures find delicious (let alone edible) she had to eat hungrily, and the myriads of cultural mine-fields she had to traverse, it was just a lot of travel in thirty days...lots of planes, trains and automobiles.

She's safe! Thank you, God.

The thing is, while I have lots to be thankful for life in general, I almost never can conjure up any thanks for the big "THANKS" day. Usually, I'm too busy wiping the sweat from my brow, frantically trying to make lump-less gravy, figure out how to set another place at the table, or make sure my kids don't stick their fingers in pies or goodies.

Thanksgiving is, well, how should I put it? An ORDEAL at the herewegoagain house.

We usually have at least 20 people. This always includes people I don't know, and may never see again. My brother is married now, so I don't have to keep up with girlfriends and their friends and their parents and their dogs, but he still has a few single friends in need of turkey on that day. Perfect daughter has brought home college friends now and again. My sister also shows up, kids in tow, and usually tells me as she walks in the door "oh, by the way, so-and-so couple are joining us. Hope you don't mind". That's where figuring out that extra place at the table comes in.

I plaster on my smile. I offer something to drink. I retreat to the kitchen to mutter to the giblets.

Here's the thing: I tell people about our family Thanksgivings...the chaos, the mess, the non-Martha-house, the dogs everywhere, people more places...the HEAT (why, or why, can't it be cold in November in Texas when I am cooking a blasted bird all day?), and they always say,
"Oh, all that matters is that the food tastes good".

WHICH IT DOESN'T.

I have watched, mesmerized as "The Barefoot Contessa" serves up an elegant turkey, some french-bread pan dressing, roasted cranberries and a spinach/walnut salad, to four impeccably dressed guests. All is quiet. Wonderful. Tasty. Unique. Textural.

At MY house...this is how it goes. There are twenty or more people, half of whom are under 12. No one is impeccably dressed. The table consists of many tables pushed together at various heights, with mismatched everything, including silverware. I always feel sorry for whoever gets the low bench, but then again, that's usually me.

The food is not simple. Well, it is simple. There is just waaaaaaaaaaaaaay too much. It "has" to be sweet potatoes and marshmallows (shudder) for mr. herewegoagain, green bean casserole (ditto) for perfect daughter, Jello salad (never, ever is it set properly) for the two little ones, mashed potatoes, gravy, some other casserole (or ten, depending if I have the sort of guests who bring something), stuffing, cranberries, and rolls. Speaking of texture. There is only one...mushy.

You don't even need teeth to eat my food.

Oh, and the turkey. Well, on various years it has been fried, (tasty), overcooked (stringy) and under-done (that was the year of "the helpful parents of someone"...they took it out too soon, and started carving it right away...that year we did need teeth, because the meat was chewy), and smoked take-out (too many chemicals and too weird to think of serving again).

None of it ever tastes good, let alone delicious. People try to find something nice to say (by the time that meal is on the table(s), I really don't care if it's edible), but they falter. I remember vividly the year my kids went on and on about how good the rolls were (from a bakery). They tried. And for that, I'm thankful.

NEXT year, we're eating out.