The Day of Eating Dangerously

This is day of eating dangerously. Thanksgiving is a two belt loop adjustment, a time to warn your teeth and gums repeatedly to look out for the onslaught of food to come. The one day when the childhood rule of having to eat three bites of everything on the table is a daunting task just because there is so much food on the table. Three bites of everything to comatose

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One of the pleasures to qualifying for old guy status is there is a rich history of Thanksgivings to draw upon and a selective memory to filter them nostalgically. Like most of the lucky, I’m thankful for family, both near and far, present and departed, who have shared these Thanksgivings to remember.

I’m at my mother-in-law’s house in New Castle and Jan and Jean are cooking for a meal that won’t happen until 5 p.m, about eight hours away. I believed the weather forecast about snow and didn’t bring my golf clubs. Two or three years I’ve brought them and played single on Thanksgiving Day to get myself out from under foot of the cooks. The family who owns the golf course has their Thanksgiving dinner in the clubhouse grille. The charge is $8 for golf or $50 to sit down and eat with them. There are few places on earth I’d rather be than alone on an empty golf course. That probably says something bad about my socialization skills but we are who we weirdly are. The snow is lightly falling but not sticking. I could have played as I got a heater and enclosure for Christmas last year. My wife is wondering if I can rent some clubs so I vacated the kitchen for my health to write this blog entry.

I peel the years back to Thanksgiving 1967 at Uncle Jack and Aunt Mildred’s house. Aunt Mildred had a long table that seated about 20 or more, which was odd as they were childless. Aunt Mildred was a tall, fearsome woman who had been an old maid elementary school teacher until she and Uncle Jack married. Their farm house was full of antiques that had been bought new during their early years of marriage. On Thanksgiving, Aunt Mildred started cooking before dawn and only grudgingly accepted help from other women in the family. She believed in cooking things one at a time as multi-tasking hadn’t been invented. If you got one of the 6 a.m. dishes it might have been a little cold at mealtime as microwaves hadn’t been invented either.

On this day, Aunt Mildred’s brother-in-law “JC” was in attendance. He was a yellow dog Democrat and Mildred was a rock-ribbed Republican. He asked her to pass him another helping of the Chicken-fried steak and she obliged. “The Republicans are taking office next year and I want to eat all the steak I can now as I only got beans the last time they held the White House,” JC said in his best West Texas gravel monotone. I don’t remember seeing JC at any family gatherings after that remark.

I realize now that of all the people at that table that day I may be the only surviving member. I don’t think my sister and her family were there and I my memory doesn’t see Cousin Sid either. I’m hoping Mildred has forgiven JC and they still aren’t arguing politics from on high. The years pass and take everyone with them sooner or later. If you have a memory of someone, today is a good day to review.

There is some symmetry between this Thanksgiving and that one – Beagles. The dog begging at the table long ago was Mr. Nutts. He was an award winning rabbit hound as I had the trophies on the television at home to prove it. The dog who was at my feet a few minutes ago is a Beagle named Poncho. He has rabbits living openly in his yard and only tracks morsels. He’s a chow hound and adjourned to the kitchen to oversee the preparations. He doesn’t golf so I’m not sure how Jan is going to get rid of him.

The great thing about Thanksgiving in the North is the accommodating people. There are a lot of items that were piled on Aunt Mildred’s long table that simply aren’t part of the Pennsylvania tradition. Yet in years past Jean and Jan have made a caramel pie, Cornbread dressing, black-eyed-peas and this year a chocolate pie for my Southern taste buds. They don’t have Chicken Fried Steak, but this is a rock ribbed Republican household after all. JC would just have to eat beans here.

I’ve included a couple of pictures from last Thanksgiving here when there was a bunch of snow. I couldn’t golf last year even with a heater and enclosure as I couldn’t have found a white ball. One is of my favorite #2 Cook/Chief Shopper and the other is of the Beagle who provides symmetry.

I’ll close with this reminder: There are no shopping days left until Black Friday.