Thanksgiving is almost over, but as it is too soon for the religious elves and snowman, I’ll tell you of the Thanksgiving dinner I gave in my first year of teaching. Deciding to duplicate the happy ambiance of the famous Norman Rockwell tribute to Thanksgiving, I invited three equally new, young teachers and, in a moment of madness, declared I was preparing the turkey. My friends were assigned the other traditional dishes (always assign; otherwise, you’ll end up with tons of chips and slightly damaged goodies from the day-old shelf).
Fully aware of the need for doggie-bags and a week of left-overs, I ordered a 12 pounder. When I picked it up that morning, I discovered I had purchased a chunk of granite purported to be a frozen turkey. Thinking fast, I resolved the dilemma by hurling it off the roof, thus breaking it into easier to thaw pieces. A great success, aside from the crater it left in the pavement.
For an hour the pieces took five minute turns in the micro oven until a little softness was more or less evident. Time was running out, so I revved up the oven to 450 and piled in all the pieces, ingeniously concealing a mound of stuffing mix underneath.
After several hours guests received the blackened carcass with its somewhat edible outer inch of crispy, crunchy crust. Surprise! It was, as is traditional, the hit of the dinner. Puzzled? I remind you this was in the ‘70s and Puff the Magic Dragon had been brought as an extra, unexpected guest. With his contribution (youngsters, ask a senior), the party was a great success, as far as we could remember. It was an unforgettable day of laughter and companionship. I hope your Thanksgiving is equally memorable.
A senior’s ramblings
Times change and I suppose we must also, although I am proceeding grudgingly. Music still enthralls me, but the musicality often puzzles me especially combined with words I can’t understand or which make no sense. It often seems beautiful lyrics and melodies are no longer required.
In a local music store, I asked about an album of Stephen Foster’s songs and music and the reply was, “What does he play?” Films remain a constant joy and are still being made by geniuses and talented actors. I fail to appreciate the ultra-violent and overly sexual (except for a select number of personal VHS art films).
Idols of the cinema still have the allure of old, but many of the younger ones with millions of fanatical followers are a jumble. On seeing their individual performances, however, I have been impressed. Action stars are now aided by the incredible magic of the computer. Everything looks so real one wonders if the acting is truly unassisted. My loyalties are still to the unsurpassed giants of the past. We seniors know there is only one Tarzan, Wonder Woman or James Bond. Fashion, as always, can produce gasps or gags.
Walking in front of me yesterday was a young person studded and tattooed hither and yon (the yon boggles my mind). Enormous breasts jutted out unnaturally from just under her collar bone. Her pants were so tight I thought, “If she farts, she’ll blow her shoes off.” The height of fashion. What happened to poodle skirts? Some days I feel I am on another planet. Young people probably think the same looking at me – an old guy wearing jeans (dungarees!) carrying a man-bag (It is not a purse). I wonder if they recognize the signs of their future.
