Greased up Turkeys and Machetes....A Thanksgiving First

Well, my Thanksgiving adventure is now over and let's just say that I ended up sleeping in even later than usual today.

This was my very first big Thanksgiving experience with the whole family over, and I'm pretty sure everyone thought we were going to end up with half-cooked turkey and burned-to-a-crisp stuffing. I was completely surprised when I didn't get a wake-up call from my mother or grandmother telling me to get my butt out of bed and put the turkey in the oven.

Well, I was up at 5:30 yesterday morning trying to shove a 22 pound turkey smothered in EVOO into a turkey bag. I still don't know how I got that turkey in that bag without it flopping on the floor, but it went in. But believe me, if it would have smashed on the floor I would have picked it right back up and just shoved it in the oven. While I may have a fear of floor fuzz, I figure that any fuzz germs on the turkey will die in the oven.

And let me tell ya, my turkey rocked. An old friend from my days in the South once told me never to put a turkey in the oven without tons of bacon on top of it. The bacon apparently holds in moisture, but I think it's just another way southern people have found to add fat, grease, oil, to pretty much everything they stuff in their mouths. I don't know, but it definitely works. And the stuffing inside the turkey turns out pure grease, a southerner's dream. I never intend for anyone to actually eat the stuffing that comes out of the turkey, so it's pretty much a formality that I end up giving to the dog. My aunt usually contributes her special crock pot turkey to the Thanksgiving meal so there are no worries about the dressing. I should maybe package up the dressing, slap a label on it and ship it to every dinner from Arkansas to Virginia, atleast make some money on it.

And the meal was filled with its usual banter about everything from politics and Barack Obama to my grandpa's aches and pains.

Let me tell ya, he thinks of everything. Half way through the meal my grandpa says, "Katie, I'm going to give you 20 bucks for the turkey."

He thinks of everything. I'm sure the whole way to my house we was thinking, "I wonder how much she spent on that turkey? Everything's so gosh darn expensive. The whole world's going to heck."

And my dad, who always has something to say about everything, says, "Didn't you know she charged us $13.50 at the door?"

Aah, good times.

And then my mom, who probably wakes up at night wondering when I'm going to mow my lawn, actually started weedwacking my yard after dinner. So my Thanksgiving afternoon was spent basically attacking my yard with a machete to get rid of the jungle that was growing back there. When we bought the house in September I don't think the previous owners had mowed or trimmed the yard in three months.

It was about 20 degrees outside, but by the end of the day, everyone but pretty much my little brother and my eighty-some-year-old-grandparents ended up in the yard trying to chop it down. So I guess everyone but them worked off the $13.50 they owe me for my meal-cooking efforts.



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