As the frosty breeze meanderingly swirled the golden foliage through the air, the gentle thrum of activity reverberated across the quiet landscape. It was November 23rd, the day before Thanksgiving, and the house was in a tizzy. The kitchen, bathed in afternoon sunlight, hummed with anticipation of the day to come. The blissful, intoxicating aroma of freshly cooked turkey wafted through the house and settled in the stomachs of the hungry onlookers. But, it was not yet time for eating. The mouthwatering food was guarded fiercely by its makers and protected from any sneak attacks or wandering hands. It wasn’t all fun and games, however. With the wonderful aspect of eating came the tiresome chore of cooking. That isn’t to say that cooking was necessarily a negative thing, but cooking a turkey, carving it, cleaning it, that, most definitely, was a taxing job. Sure, the idea of a turkey dinner was enticing, but actually creating such a dinner proved to be far greater a challenge than any could have expected.
For one, the turkey was a good twenty pounds of cold, clammy, raw meat. That meant that everything it touched, everyone who touched it, had to be cleaned thoroughly to prevent contamination and diseases and whatever else raw flesh does to a person. And, once it was finally prepped and placed in the oven (and everything was meticulously scrubbed), enthusiasm soon began to wane even further. It would take three hours, three entire hours, for the bird to be cooked. Even the most patient of people would start to lose their cool waiting that extreme amount of time. But, even when it was out of the oven, even after that long cooking process, it still wasn’t ready to be carved. There was still another thirty to forty minutes left to wait. All that time, in total, felt like half of a lifespan, if not more.
The household persevered, however, and, somehow, it was finally time to carve. Now, one would expect that after the struggles already overcome, this next process would have to prove easier. Wrong, so wrong. So wrong it’s hard to even communicate the wrongness of that thought. Carving a turkey, it turns out, is not as simple as the holiday movies would have you believe. It is, in fact, excruciatingly difficult. Sure, parts of it are amusing, parts of it are even, dare I say, enjoyable. Standing in the kitchen, laughing as you struggle to rip off a turkey’s leg, stabbing it haphazardly hoping for a miracle, is fun when done with family. But, mostly, it is just an amalgamation of scorching flesh, boiling “liquid,” and knives. The situation gets even dicier when the clumsy family member (I won’t name names… okay, it was me) is given the knife. Let’s just say that mistakes were made.
But, when it was finally done, when the grueling tasks were completed, a delectable plate of tastiness was left. And, I suppose, that’s all that matters. Thanksgiving, once again, came and went. Food was consumed, family was appreciated, and memories were made. It was over. The stress of the holidays had come to a peaceful close, or so I supposed. But, alas, just as that thought crossed my mind, just as I began to sink into complacency, the ever giddy sound of sleigh bells could be heard. Oh, boy. The holidays had just begun. Hold on to your Santa hats and Christmas cookies, people; it’s going to be a bumpy ride.
