It’s Thanksgiving, Turkey!

It is hard sometimes to think of reasons to be thankful at Thanksgiving, we have had a few difficult years lately. My husband has been downsized three times in about a year and a half and our finances have taken a hit. In addition, the holiday season has long been a source of acrimony and nerves. This year I can only look to the ridiculous for reason to be thankful, things like ‘at least I don’t have a disfiguring wart on my lip, ‘at least the cat didn’t eat our bird this year’ or ‘at least they don’t have streakers at Thanksgiving’. My ability to muster a generous, giving spirit has stammered and constricted this year, the way the last drops of gasoline sputters and suspend an engine from dying as it is itself dying. I am ashamed to say I am faulty and life is flawed.

After all, I should know better, I should have learned by now how to make my way in the world, I should have moved on by now. Instead of holding onto past problems, live in the moment and overcome the troubles of today, ones that can be changed. When my husband lost his job for the third time, I was able to dig deep and call up the stability and courage that he needed. Just a few days ago, I told Mike that I couldn’t go through a fourth downsizing and I would like him to prepare for the worst and get his resume updated. He exploded, how did I dare suggest he quit his job. I never said quit his job, just be prepared, we need to be prepared for bad times whether they come or not. With each layoff my optimism has faded and I have become wearier and wearier of ‘getting along’. I just can’t do it again; something in me must be fractured if my faith in the future has failed so miserably. How can I be thankful at Thanksgiving when I am so disturbed and concerned about the past and the future?

I do realize that these financial problems are nothing compared to what some people go through. Some people have real problems. Some people have to deal with death and illness; some people are homeless or have no family. I have even heard of one family where the father had lost his job 15 times over the course of a few years. They had to move across country several times following jobs and had to exhaust their savings on these moves. In this family’s case, Oprah Winfrey’s production company dragged them onto television and gave them various items (a car, tuition assistance, more). Outward gestures of generosity are certainly better then nothing, but all charity should be anonymous, that way self-importance does not adulterate the heart’s importance. I have heard that audience members for that show are selected based on their enthusiasm and ability to do so on cue. Her audience did their job and cheered mightily – ‘Good Oprah’, ‘How kind you are Oprah’. At least there is a silver lining to human misery, the ratings were PHENOMENAL!

A few year ago my mother cooked Thanksgiving dinner for the family. At that time my brother had some sort of phlebitic condition that made it difficult for him to walk and time consuming for him to get ready to even go out. He used to drive but had not renewed his license for several years because his condition made driving painful. If his mother wanted him to come to the Thanksgiving dinner, she would have to have him picked up. She did and she did, she had me pick him up.

I drove across town to the small apartment Carl rented in the converted Victorian. Each floor had two apartments for a total of 6 all together. Carl lived on the first floor because of his ailment and the other first floor apartment was rented by a young man named Eric Markson. My first memory of Eric was of the first time I visited Carl in this building, Eric stuck his tongue out at me, through the mail slot – but out at me. He knew me from seeing me at Carl’s place so he made every effort to be polite. As I knocked on the door of Carl’s apartment, Eric spoke to me from the doorway of his apartment.

“Excuse me Carl’s sister, could you tell me what time it is?” he asked in his politest voice. I turned around and Eric stood in the hallway of that ancient Victorian completely nude. I quickly looked at my watch and related “11AM”.

Without noticing or seeming to care, Eric continued his conversation, as if he was in his finest clothing ready to go with us. But he wasn’t, he was nude. Not one to point out the obvious and compassionate for people with infirmities and mental conditions, I continued to both knock on the door and talk to Eric. This is my downfall, being overly polite, in situation in which it is not necessary. Eric wanted to know what we were having for dinner, he told me about his cat, the one he kept tied to his bed. Later, when this cat died, he kept it in his freezer. I was blushing beet red and I still blush every time this incident is mentioned. It wasn’t until Carl answered the door that the ‘spell’ that kept me talking to the naked man in the hallway was broken and we went on our ways.

“Jesus f---ing Christ, Eric; what the f--- is wrong with you.” “You stupid f---ing turkey, don’t you know you don’t answer the door in your birthday suit. My brother was a poet when he wanted to be. This is a f---ing holiday you moron, we don’t want to see that.” Eric shrank away, not from the sudden realization that he was naked but more so out of fear of my brother’s reprisals. “It’s Thanksgiving, Turkey! You’re the f---ing turkey today, you f---ing moron.” Carl, knew very few adjectives, most of them cuss words and his favorite start with f. I just shook my head, I was quite speechless.

These sorts of situations always leave me speechless – but not Carl. Carl always had something to say in every situation whether his input is desired or not. We have heard this story every Thanksgiving since, it has become a traditional whether we like it or not. I know it could be worse, we all could have seen Eric nude or we could attend an all nude Thanksgiving. Thinking about these events has given me a few things to be thankful for though. Even though our cat did eat our parakeet this year, I am thankful that Oprah Winfrey hasn’t gotten wind of our miseries and forced us to attend one of her audience participation exorcisms. It is not that glowing, warm, sentimental reason I have been wishing for, but still there is always next year to hope for something better. In the mists of my misery this year, I am thankful that Eric Markson is not my Thanksgiving turkey. That alone is reason to be thankful. Happy Thanksgiving! Is that a bump on my lip – I hope that wart doesn’t grow?