“Turkey”

Giddy.  I’m giddy!  I’m always excited this time of year anyway, but now I’m giddy.

Thanksgiving Day is six days away, and turkey is my passion.  My one true love.  So much so that every year I’ll starve myself for day OR eat a lot to stretch my stomach out just before that magical day.  Just depends on which theory is currently in vogue.

I’d be excited anyway, but I’m giddy this year, because Tom invited me to his house for Thanksgiving!  Tom is a bonafide turkey worshipper – he told me himself.  For God’s sake, the man’s name is TOM, as in Tom Turkey!

I can only droolingly imagine the feast he’ll spread out before me.  Not that it matters, because I learned many moons ago to skip the mashed potatoes, rolls and vegetables, and allocate my time and talents to the turkey, the stuffing and the gravy.

Normally on Thanksgiving I would go to my sister’s house and put up with her know-it-all husband and bratty kids for the opportunity to shovel in turkey; mediocre turkey, but still, turkey.  But someone who says he worships turkey must have it down to a science.  Will it be brined and oven roasted?  Smoked?  Deep-fried?  Be still my heart.

I arrived at Tom’s house and upon entering, I deeply inhaled.  The scent told me I was wrong in assuming they would prepare it like everyone else.  A true turkey devotee must have found the perfect preparation method.  I vibrated with excitement.

Unfortunately, chatting before the meal is part of the process when you go to someone else’s home for Thanksgiving.  I made small talk with Tom, his Aunt Velma and Uncle Shirley, and Agnes and Jacob, his mother and father, for an hour before his wife Grace appeared and said, “Time to eat!”

I think I scowled at Agnes and Jacob as they simply took too long to make the 30 foot journey from family to dining room.  Finally though, the moment had arrived.  I scanned the table and saw the things I knew I would eat lightly of – the corn and green beans, the dinner rolls, the sweet potato casserole, the cranberry sauce – and then I saw it.

Not turkey.  Beef.  Chuck roast?  I panicked.  Where is it?  It must be coming!

Grace came into the dining room, sat and everyone joined hands.  She had other food to bring to the table, she said, but wanted us all to say the prayer before the food got cold.  Whew.  The turkey was obviously keeping warm in the oven and she would bring it out post-haste.  Good girl, that Grace.

Tom bowed his head and everyone else bowed theirs, too.  He began to pray:

“Oh great Chalchiuhtotolin, god of all turkeys, we offer our praise to you, and we mourn the sacrifice of so many of your kind on this day…”