Turkey day over and done, family folks way younger than I closed, carried a metal table and chairs outside, and propped them against the garage walls.
One table I had directed them on how to fold, where to put, and to be very careful with was an old Ethan Allen dining room table.
Years ago, I was cruising down Northside Drive when I saw the legs of a wooden table in a trash pile set out to be picked up by a garbage truck.
I had pulled over, raised the back of our station wagon, somehow managed to get the table in, and then drove on home with out it falling out. (Checking on the internet, this piece of furniture is now worth well over $1,000.)
So, I thought about this and other things as I packed away turkey ornaments, table settings, door decorations, and rehung our old turkey shirts.
Once again looking at a lavender toothbrush stain on my husband's shirt, To say the least we're not always color-coordinated, I thought, remembering when he had spread purple toothpaste instead of hair oil across his comb.
I was feeling somewhat down in the dumps when everybody left. Then, voices from another day reached me. Turkey day was not the first time we had brightly colored heads in the family. Not on a Thanksgiving, but on one of our family motor home trips.
***
Black loops of hair fell to the floor as Willard buzzed an electric razor over our grandson's head.
"Ouch, Grand Willard. That stings."
Husband Willard had made a diagnosis. He turned on the power to Wizard II, our RV motor home, then plugged in his electric razor. As ever, a hands-on-doctor, he was taking care of the problem. He paid no attention to the whining grandson.
"In my day, we not only shaved heads for ringworms," he said, finally flipping off the razor switch, "we also used gentian violet, this purple-colored medicine I’m putting on yours. I happen to have some in my bag."
"It'll probably look like somebody smushed a bunch of ripe plums against your scalp," I said, "but it won't last forever."
The scene in front of me had been too painful to watch, so I turned to the TV where a special weather bulletin had just filled the screen. Along with the ringworms lurking inside our RV, something even more unpleasant was brewing outside. A powerful storm was due to hit in a little while. "High winds, heavy seas and possible tornados in the Florida Panhandle," the announcer said. I got up, raised the blinds in the Wizard II and looked out.
The late afternoon sun was that kind of lovely marmalade hue that hinted of bad weather coming. Probably not a good idea for the rest of the grandkids to be outside, so for all of us it was an eat soon and bed down early night.
Later on, unable to sleep, our new, state-of-the-art bald-headed grandson had decided to watch TV. Easing to the front of the motor home he plopped down hard in the driver's seat. When he did our horn brayed like 500 poppers blowing at a New Year’s Eve party on the stroke of midnight. Alarmed, the rest of us jumped awake, then realizing we were the ones making the racket, we tried to stop it. Holding a flashlight in one hand and a screwdriver in the other, Willard began poking at connections, boxes and wires. Nothing worked.
After about 10 minutes, people from all over the park began to gather; large-bellied men with terry cloth shirts pulled over flowered bathing suits; chenille-robed women pushing babies in strollers; boys and girls who roller-bladed or skate-boarded over. They all circled the Wizard like marauding bandits around a wagon train.
Huddled together, the Boggan clan stood around and apologized. It looked like we would have to unhook all our connections and drive around the Pensacola streets, our horn not a new alarm system, but a trumpet call for a mechanic. But all of a sudden, quiet fell over the park. Some man had crawled up under the Wizard, grabbed hold of something to help push himself further up under the motor home and just happened to jerk the right wire loose.
The quiet was short-lived, however. Heat lightening streaked; thunder rumbled out in the gulf. About midnight buckets of rain slammed us. The Wizard swished and swayed like a hula dancer on Dexidrene.
"We need to get to shelter," Willard said. "To the clubhouse."
I jerked on an over-sized, lime-green, Ski Mississippi T-shirt, and clamped a gold lame' shower cap as big as a garbage can lid over the pink foam curlers in my head. Because Willard had parked our car next to us we could make a mad dash to safety.
Inside the clubhouse, it looked like a giant house-party was going on; people were bedded down with blankets, pillows, and sleeping bags. We were the final holdouts; everyone else had come in at least an hour earlier.
Willard and I sat down next to an elderly gentleman. "It's been a strange night," the man said. "Right now, if you dare to look outside, we have a raging ocean in our backyard and tornaders hopscotching around the front." Setting down his beer, he peeled a large slice of pizza from a cardboard box. "Early on we had us an Horatio Hornblower who had to let the whole campground know he was here. And I'd swear I saw one a of them skin-headed kids guarding their RV." He plowed through the pizza, then lifted a hunk of cheese off a tray. "The kid had purple tattoos where his hair and his brains orter be. I couldn't hep but wondering. Is he any kin to that guy with the rainbow colored hair what shows up on TV shows holding them religious signs? The one what looked like he mighta flunked outta Sarasoder clown school?" The padded plastic chair the man sat in swooshed as he leaned back. "If I find out who them troublemakers are, I'm turning 'em in for disturbing the peace."
By that time I was on my feet and easing over to our bald-headed grandson. "Put this on." I pulled off my gold lame' shower cap. "No questions asked."
My grandson's mouth fell open so wide you could have slam-dunked a basketball into it.
"If you don't. First thing in the morning you'll be at Tassels. It's a tattoo place in Gulf Shores." I dropped to my knees in front of the bewildered young man. "And you'll have state of the art purple plums etched on your head."
Needless to say, there were so many ways our family would never make a high society list. But that state-of-the-art memory pulled me from my doldrums, and for now, that's high enough for me.
