The great bird is upon us. Truthfully, I’ve never been much of a turkey person. I don’t know if it’s the taste or the texture or the fact that I have enough trouble staying awake and so tryptophan isn’t exactly topping my list of edibles right now. Thankfully and in the spirit of not giving anyone food poisoning, I’ve never been tasked with turning out the fowl faire or its succulent stuffing or the gravy on top but suddenly I’m incredibly hungry and thankful.
It’s the time to be thankful, after all; not to complain, or bemoan or begrudge that belligerent not-so-little bird that brings us all together and makes us long for the days we could still Zoom in those feel-good moments with our second cousin twice removed three times annoying or her neighbor who she decided to have tagalong with those extra-large German Shepherds of sizable shedding and appetite.
It’s the time to be gracious and grateful and make lists so we remember what lucky-ducks (not turkeys) we are to be sitting around the table gaining back the 10 pounds we spent 10 weeks trying to get rid of while awkwardly feigning awestruck admiration for some disturbingly glossy gourd displays the dogs seem intent on gobbling up. Centerpieces. Chew toys. Easy mistake.
Gourds and gratitude aside, the cornucopia of chaos both at my own family gatherings as well as at my in-laws has often left me wondering if I just politely excused myself (you know, five minutes or so after arriving), would anyone ever notice that I got in my car, drove to some remote part of Canada (where I’m pretty confident Thanksgiving is over) and changed my name to Ginnifer, with a G?
Eat, drink and be merry. I’ll be back in about 26 hours. Hopefully, by then, there’s a good chance my in-laws might have the turkey on the table and certain members of my own family will be so inebriated, they’ll likely forget what holiday we’re even celebrating. I’m both proud and ashamed to admit I typically fall into the latter category. In the meanwhile, I sincerely hope you enjoy my tribute to turkey day and all that I’m thankful for.
“Lesley Kirschner’s Not So Heartfelt Homage to Stuff She’s (Somewhat) Happy For (Sometimes) On Like, A Really, Really Good Day, Once a Year”
- Socks that match
- The absence of shellacked squash
- That the dead tree in our front yard being cradled by a telephone wire hasn’t actually you know, fallen and killed anyone. Yet.
- Really tolerant neighbors
- The fact that my toddler still somehow manages to sleep through me trimming his nails while I hold a flashlight in my mouth and oh, the things we do for our children
- Alcohol in any form
- Milo in any form
- That the rather large looking millipede (?) I woke to find scaling my face didn’t crawl into my mouth, lay eggs, and have babies, and yes I know, I have a vivid imagination.
- That when the cat carrier I just purchased for way too much on Amazon decided to dismantle itself midair with “not feline so fine” inside of it, I was in the house and not in my driveway.
- A backup camera on the mom van. I’d be in prison by now.
- I cannot say enough about the importance of really good chemicals.
- White noise machines. Not sure what we did before these. Hummed a lot?
- Did I mention alcohol?
- That my mother never attempted to make something called “tofurky” again
- Village Market sushi
- The nice people at Wilton Stop and Shop who continue to enable me never to have to set foot in a grocery store, like ever again.
- Anyone who lets me into the Middlebrook car line
- The extremely few times I’ve been carded in the last decade. Ancona’s, you complete me.
- That I’m not a turkey
- Girls named Ginnifer
- That when I left my passenger door open overnight and some nocturnal night-lifers quite obviously lived it up like it was November Break in Nevada, they actually left it cleaner.
- That I don’t own a scale
- Schwarzkopf Dye in Darkest Brown. Otherwise, 40 really would be the new 60.
- That conjunctivitis in cats is apparently very curable.
- Toilet Paper. Lest we never forget.
- Benadryl, aka the new tryptophan … as useful for calming children as it is for husbands. Truly, a girl’s best friend.
- Those very painful underwear that somewhat succeed in helping me not look like I’m six months pregnant
- Those little green stoppers in my latte
- The Middlebrook Parents Facebook page. Just when you thought I couldn’t ask one more stupid question…
- Not to be hosting Thanksgiving
- My kids who cooperated (loose use of the term) just long enough for me to take the pic for our holiday card. Chrismukkah greetings coming soon to a mailbox near you and maybe some Benadryl (if you’re lucky, ducky).
Columnist Lesley Kirschner grew up quiet, in the woods, and devoid of siblings so her hobbies quickly became reading, writing, and talking to inanimate objects. She also spent a considerable amount of time doing voice-overs for her dolls and watching too much daytime television–channel 3, sometimes channel 8, if the weather was good and the antenna wasn’t acting up. She was in attendance at school, graduated from a very much not notable college not worth mentioning, and was transplanted to Wilton with her husband, Ambler Farm‘s Farmer Jonathan and their (baby makes) three children almost a decade ago. Although she never quite found her calling in life, other than perhaps the doll voice-overs, which in hindsight were eerily convincing, she’s happy to try her hand at writing and is thankful for the support and community she found on Facebook’s Buy Nothing Wilton. Lesley realizes while this is all very exciting, she’s not winning a Pulitzer so she’ll wrap it up and be quiet. She’s had a lot of practice.