I'm Tommy the Turkey and a new song I now sing,
I'm here to tell you, I ain't got no more clipped wings.
We're having us our Thanksgiving fest
I hope you can come, that's my request.
And on that day, don't you wear no mask
This year it ain't nobody's unwanted task.
Gobbley de gobble, and quack, quack, quack,
Let us know, if you'll be at our shack.
A week before family was supposed to come to my house for Thanksgiving, I went to three grocery stores, searching the shelves for the yellow corn meal I always used.
The kerchief-haired lady's gone.
At each store I asked someone who worked there to see if there was any bag or box in the back with her picture on the front. No one could find the old yellow corn meal that had always been my cornbread necessary.
"I'm done. In more ways than one," I said, dropping a bag with a picture of cornbread muffins into my overflowing buggy and heading home.
She was gone and I thought this would be my last go around to open the doors.
"This was the final time I'll have everybody over for Thanksgiving dinner," I had said to my two daughters-in-law, Gail and Binnie Jo after last year's celebration.
"You've said this for as many years as I can remember," Binnie Jo answered. "And I've been in this family for over twenty years."
"I've been a Boggan longer than you, and I was hearing it over thirty years ago," Gail reminded me.
I jerked my chin down, and put a long-suffering look on my face. "Well, I guess I can go through with it one more time."
***
Early Thanksgiving morning, tables were set, house and doors decked for the occasion, a tapestry of fall colors. Gail had come in a few days early and she and I had completed most of our cooking. Almost all of the bases were covered.
A barking dog got my attention. "I'm ready to be let in," Miss Lettie Lou announced. I opened the porch door, waved my poochie in, and the big, hairy lady sank to the floor beside me.
I finished crumbling muffins from the country club into the new corn meal mix. Stirring in chicken broth, celery, onions, and seasonings I filled several large pans and slid them into the oven.
The usual delectable aromas floated from the kitchen: smoked turkey, baked ham, marshmallows and sweet taters, butterbeans and pecan pies. Giblet gravy bubbled on the stove; cornbread dressing baked in the oven. I thought I had enough dressing to feed Cox's army.
Almost done with Gail and me getting our part of the meal ready I struck a match, lit the logs in the gas fireplace and stretched back to catch my breath.
As I watched gold and amber flames drift, flick and dance, I slid into the not-so-distant past, last year's turkey season.
A tragedy occurred two days before family was to come to my house last Thanksgiving. My beloved Roo Roo passed away after a very fast, unexpected battle with cancer.
I thought this ending would be long years to come, that my doggy, the hungry, abandoned Roo Roo who I had brought from a Kangaroo Station some years back still had much tail-wagging to do.
A few weeks after her death, my other fellow, little Petey Poo, who had been in poor health for over a year fell gravely ill. He had to be put down.
At the veterinarian's office, listening to the old hymn, "I Come to the Garden Alone," he slipped away to doggie heaven.
Shortly after, daughter-in-law Gail brought the furry, gentle, big-girl, face-licking, tail-wacking, Lettie Lou into my life.
Pets fill our hearts with unconditional love. Lettie Lou filled a gap in mine.
The dinging oven broke into my reverie. Sweet potatoes were done and it would soon be turkey time with the family. Gail laid out all the dishes as I hustled to my bedroom and slipped into my glitzy Thanksgiving shirt adorned with a picture of a beaded and sequined strutting turkey across the front. On the other side, her jeweled, tail-feathered name, "Hen" spread across the back.
I fluffed my hair, took one last glance in the mirror and put on a happy face.
Blessings and sadness mixed and mingled behind the smile. I always think of and remember my beloveds on special days; I hold them in my heart--my soul mate Willard, my daughters, little Tootie and Pat, grand-daughters Brent and Lindsay Lee. Years have come and gone, as have so many of our dear family members. Although they are no longer here with us, heart and soul, we are threaded together.
The doorbell rang. As they say, "The show must go on."
"Come ye thankful people come," I crooned.
Our multi-layered Thanksgiving crowd began streaming through the door and it was over the river and through the woods, to grandmother's house we've come, snacking on Jules Kindred's mouth-watering, bacon-wrapped appetizers and my dip and chips. Then it was turkey time.
Laid out on kitchen counters and the stove top was our classic Thanksgiving dinner, an array of delectable dishes. There was something nostalgic and even somewhat comforting about staying with our familiar spread that also soon included some of our tried and true stars; son Bill's macaroni and cheese; Gail's delicious casseroles and veggies; Jan Maselle's corn salad; my stuffed eggs; rolls, cranberry sauce, cake, pumpkin and pecan pie.
I had expected somewhere in the neighborhood of around 35 family members and some friends—I'm not good at numbers, but think we had a few more than that.
Thanksgiving is a not just a day of parades, Ole Miss/State football games, and bountiful dinners. It is a special day to take a deep breath and celebrate family and traditions. To be with people we love, to rejoice and be thankful for all the blessings that have come our way throughout the years.
"Time to pray, eat, and be thankful," Binnie Jo announced, after we had imbibed our drinks, nibbled on appetizers and visited with our loved ones for a while. Gathered around the large dining room table, for several moments our family became quiet as we gave thanks for the blessings those of us gathered here at Gleneagles have. We also thought about and prayed for those who have lived through a year of hard times, and tragedy.
Plates filled, the feast began. Knives and forks clicked. The heavy talking and loud laughter that filled the room competed with the din and blaring noise of football games and parades.
Gluttony became a patriotic duty.
All too soon, the celebration and family togetherness were over. It was time to pitch in, cleanup, and then go home.
All done the front door closed for the night.
Cleaning up the tables, I had planned to scrape out and give part of what was left of the turkey and dressing to Lettie Lou.
The kerchief-haired lady had once commanded my shelf. Now she was gone.
Glory be! And so was all my dressing!
