I was legit gobbled at by a customer yesterday. An adult customer.

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Mornin’ all.

Guess what I’ve got thawing in the bathtub?

Now, if you guessed, “Medical cadaver,” then you’ve got some issues, my friend, and you need help.

It is, of course, a turkey. Just about done, too, thankfully. I just poked at it and it feels chilly but squishy. No doubt I’ll be chipping the damn giblet glacier out of the cavity to break the birdie down, but I think the meat is thawed. There was more than a fair chance it wouldn’t have been, and things would have gotten very interesting around Le Kitchen du Bethie this morning.

See, I went and bought a 28.3 lb turkey.

For six people.

“Bethie, why??”

I DON’T KNOW!!

I don’t really know, okay? I went to buy the turkey, and when I was standing at the coffin case…

*sidenote: to those who may not know, a refrigerated rolling display case, the kind that’s just a chilly box a grocery store stacks perishable items inside, is referred to as a coffin case. So I suppose, in a way, that IS a cadaver in my tub. Hm. I’m sorry about my earlier questioning of your mental processes. You were simply thinking ahead in the story. My bad.*

…looking at all the turkeys in 57¢/lb Land, doing the mental math to try and figure out how much I needed… Start at like 10 lbs, then add a half pound raw for every guest. I mean, I only needed like a 13-15 pounder. But folks, I was looking at those 13-15 pounders and they looked so small.

I have expounded in great length with lots of flowery eloquence waxing upon the Thanksgivings of my youth in previous Musings. They’re archived if you want to read about grandpas that encouraged tomfoolery and cousins that inspired diabolical snack-stealing plans. They were magical days and I hold them very dear. I also miss them terribly.

I’m in that place in life right now where my kids are growing, but not quite grown, where my adult sibs have moved to different parts of the country, where the older generation by and large have released their molecules back to the cosmos. It’s kind of a lonely era for holidays.

It won’t always be like that. Life is a cycle, the swing of a pendulum. In a few years, my kids will start having real lives, significant others, spouses, children. One by one I’ll have to set another place at the table and scramble to find another chair that doesn’t have a warped leg. And before I know it, it will be MY responsibility to run around the kitchen like a chicken with her head cut off at 4 a.m. scrambling to cram seasoned bread in the culinary cadaver because 13 guests will be arriving in only 7 hours and god DAMN I shouldn’t have had that wine last night…

My time for being the Thanksgiving ring leader will come, and my table WILL be full.

Maybe I was thinking, “Best not let ourselves get rusty, old gal,” when I was choosing my turkey. Maybe I was remembering the crowning jewel at my grandmother’s Thanksgiving table. Maybe I just didn’t want to come at this Thanksgiving with some Bob Cratchit scrawny ass pigeon. I don’t know. But as I stood there looking between a reasonable amount of food and the glorious 28.3 pound Leviathan, the choice became clear.

That leads me to a problem I should have considered before buying the giant: I can’t roast it.

Remember the epic Electrical Apocalypse of ’16? The harbinger of the shitstorm of a year to come that fried our stone age circuit box? Well, along with the computer and dryer, another casualty of the huge surge was the heating element of my oven. I didn’t want to fix it in winter, because it’s cold and I didn’t think it was a good idea to muck with gas lines in the cold, brittle weather. In spring, I started to look for the part. It quickly became apparent that it was not going to be an easy task, since the oven we have is no longer produced and there are mixed opinions on whether or not a universal part will even fit. I figured, “Eh, it’s only spring. I’ve got all summer.”

Stop laughing at me. It’s not very nice.

As we all learned with the story of the grasshopper, I done goofed. Here it is, November and chilly again, and I am looking at the same job I avoided in January.

So I’ve got no oven. I had a moment of regret as I was hoisting my turkey into the car, and I side-eyed the enormous bird in the passenger’s seat most of the way home. It wasn’t until I was watching Teen 2.0 lug the thing in that I actually came up with a game plan

game plan? Get it? Cuz it’s a turkey. *Thanksgiving pun fist bump*

I’m going to take the meat off the bone, grind up half of it to freeze, stuff and roll the other breast and thigh, and do them on the stove top, dutch oven style. I may even finish them off on the grill, if the weather cooperates.

Top tip: One bad idea can lead to several good ones if you’re a pro at working around your own poor impulse control.

I have today off. Some in the bakery do not. I don’t know if it’ll be busy today or dead in the store. I’m guessing the only customers they’ll have are the last minute panickers, because to me it seemed that every single man, woman, and child in the metropolitan area bought a pie yesterday.

The other bakery employees warned me. It’s the first major bakery-heavy holiday I’ve worked in the bakery, and my manager warned me it would be a zoo. She said, “Last year, we were handing out hot pumpkin pies right out of the oven because we could not keep up with demand.” It was one of those statements I thought was seasonal hyperbole.

No. As a first hand witness to the hundreds of pies being placed in carts and baskets, I can say without a doubt my boss wasn’t overstating the facts.

Pies. Pies and pies. If you lined up every pie we sold yesterday end to end it would stretch…well, pretty damn far, I’m guessing. Shit. I didn’t do out the math. It would be impressive, though, I promise you that. And really weird to see all those pies lined up.

Apple, in two sizes. Lattice apple. Mile high apple. Apple berry. Mixed berry, which is NOT the same as “very” berry. Blueberry, strawberry, raspberry, cherry. We had pumpkin, in two sizes, sweet potato, peach, mince…OH the mince. We broke many hearts over the past few days having mince be an available pie, but having them sold out as soon as they hit the floor. “Come back in about two hours and you can have a fresh one.”

“BUT I WANT IT NOW.”

Cream pies. Coconut custard pies, but not plain custard because it’s not 1842 and no one eats that bullshit except one very sad man who could not accept that we do not offer just plain custard pies. Pumpkin praline, pecan…

No matter how many pies we had, someone was always disappointed. I get it. On Thanksgiving, you don’t eat food. You eat nostalgia. You crave a taste of the foods your mother made you eat out of politeness because of everything that awful creamed squash represented. You want a whole wheat roll, not because you actually like them, but because your great Grammie used to make them hard enough to crack a plate if you didn’t set it down carefully and to this day they make you think of the inside jokes with your sisters. You buy olives to stick them on your fingers because you used to have a contest to see how long it would take your Mum to notice and hiss “You girls stop that and behave!” You serve mashed potatoes not because anyone actually wants mashed potatoes, but to use the scoop like a pool for gravy like your uncle pointed out when he confessed quietly that he didn’t want to eat his spuds, either.

You eat nostalgia. And you will go from store to store to find just the right item to satisfy that bittersweet craving. I felt very bad for every customer I had to disappoint.

We had a couple customers that tried my patience. There was a lady who tried to take another customer’s order yesterday. She straight up tried to pick up an order she didn’t place. First time this has ever happened to me. The woman came up to the counter and said, “Hi. I’ve got an order for a chocolate cream pie.”

I sold 7 chocolate cream pies in 2 hours yesterday. They are a hot commodity. To give you an idea of our normal volume, I probably sell one or two of them a WEEK. It is just a high demand item, and even though we made up three times as many as we normally would have, they were all sold out except for one I had set aside for a customer.

I asked the woman’s name. She gave me a different name than was on the order. I said, “I’m sorry, I don’t have an order for you. When did you place it?”

She said, “I’m sure that’s mine. I was standing right here when the lady took the order.” When I reiterated that I didn’t have an order and asked when it was placed to see if there was a legit screw up afoot, she said, “You! That was it. I was in talking to you last night about it. You promised to set one aside for me. I’ll take the one you have.”

Now, this was straight up bullshit. That lady didn’t talk to me. In fact, that lady probably didn’t even come into the store. The order in my hand had been placed days in advance over the phone, and I wasn’t even at work when this hag said she was in.

But, I can’t just scream, “OUT YOU FILTHY LIAR!” Apparently it’s against company policy. *rolly eyes* Such PC bullshit. Unable to speak the truth in a corporate setting, I had no choice but to go with the nicey nice approach. “I’m sorry, but we have no more chocolate pies, and I don’t have an order for you. We have other kinds of cream pies, and many fruit pies if you’d like to choose one of them.”

And then she pulled the ace. I have to give her credit, I think she was a pro. She knew what she was doing and I wonder how many last minute pies she’s gotten with this scam. She grew artificially indignant and said, “Well I don’t know who you think you are, but I placed an order for a cream pie and YOU need to make this right!”

We don’t make our own cream pies. We get them in from the factory with shell and filling, then we just top them with fresh whipped cream (real whipped cream, not some fake ass spray can bullshit) and accoutrements like chocolate curls, toasted coconut, and cake crumbs.

We DO, however, have chocolate pie shells and chocolate pie filling we use in other recipes, and I said, “What I can do for you is make a different kind of cream pie.” I explained, and she looked stunned. I don’t know what she was expecting. Looking back, I wonder if she wanted something for free? Or a discount on the other groceries? Even in the moment, it was clear she did not actually want the pie.

Didn’t matter. She threw down the gauntlet and she was GOING to leave the store with a damn chocolate pie! I said, “I’ll just pop in the back and make you a pie. Give me five minutes and you’ll have one that’s better than the one you ordered.”

It was better, too. The shell was larger, with a chocolate bottom, and fresh filling, not frozen. I did up the pie, brought it out, and she starts to hem and haw. She said, “This isn’t like the other.” I said, “No, but it’s a superior product, and the very best we can do on such short notice without an order.”

Then, it happened.

The moment of clarity. She looked at me and she knew that I knew she didn’t actually order a pie. She knew she got bested. She stood there for a minute while I held the pie out to her and I think she actually tried to consider her options before finally taking the pie and saying, “Well. At least it’s something for the Thanksgiving table.”

I made some cute little turkey cupcakes to put in my top case. In the top case, we sell fresh items daily. What you see is what we have. A family wanted a dozen of the turkey cupcakes. I had four on display. I explained that we didn’t have any more, and they said, “Make them.” Not, “Oh, wow. Is there any way…” Or “I’m sorry to ask, but…” Nope. Just straight up, “Make them.” I said, “I’m sorry, that’s not how it works. Something like this would have to be ordered in advance.” Scoff. Glare. Storm off with the cart.

No skin off my nose. Bye, Felicia.

So there were a few that tried my patience. Most of the customers, though, were awesome. I made a new best customer friend. Awesome dude who was stressed out shopping with his elderly mother and needed a minute to vent when his mum was off looking at the breads. He came back the next day, thanked me, gave me a hug. I’m not going to lie. That was a great moment.

An old woman needed some help, and when I was helping her, she rubbed my arm and said, “Oh! You’re so soft!” And then rubbed me again. That was a confusing moment. I mean, what in the actual hell? Was she sizing me up to decide whether or not to lure me to her gingerbread house and shove me in an oven? Lesbian GILF run amok? I don’t know. But she was smiley and kind so…? I guess either way it was oddly flattering.

This elderly man came up to my counter, wild eyed. He said, “I was told I NEED a mince pie and this is the third store I’ve been to. Do you even know what the traffic is like out there? But there’s no way in hell I want to go home without a mince, so please tell me you have one.” I did. He bought two. He said, “Oh thank you, dear! Oh you just made my Thanksgiving so much better. No one even eats it, you know, but we’ve GOT to have it on the table.” He shook his head, then said, “But it makes her happy. And you have made ME happy, so I thank you.”

I know I don’t do anything personally. I’m not on the line at the factory working double time to make sure the warehouses of the US have enough pies for all the beautifully set tables. I don’t even do the baking off. But in that moment, I’m the person they thank.

I tell you what. That was a great way to start my holiday.

Thus concludes the Morning Gobble for Gobbleday, 2016. I need to go take the bird out of the bath so I can shower. You need to finish your coffee then start your own Thanksgiving prep. Thank you for keeping me company this morning. I hope your Thanksgiving is filled with future memories that’ll make you chuckle and laugh and feel the warmth of being in a time and place with those you love. Have a wonderful Thanksgiving!

Thanksgiving in an alternate universe is pretty rad…

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Mornin’ all.

I see I’ve got a few early risers today! Getting those birds in the oven, are we? Well, help yourself to the coffee. It’s not good. In fact, it’s fairly terrible. But it’s free and it gets the job done. You need a kick in the ass, and this will most definitely flip your turbo switch. Chew a stick of chalk after you swallow. I find it helps with the burn.

“I think I’ll pass, Bethie.”

Really? Don’t you have a Thanksgiving meal to prepare? Hm? One that’s going to be eaten by your in-laws, your self-righteous cousin, and the older sibling you’ll never quite live up to?

“… … … GIMME ALL THE COFFEES!!!”

That’s the spirit! Just make the stuffing soft. You really aren’t going to want to bite down after that java strips all your tooth enamel. Trust me.

So it’s Thanksgiving! I’ve waxed eloquent on the T-days of my childhood in previous blogs. If you don’t know that my grandfather was an accomplice in piscecide, you really should go into my backlogs and check it out. Don’t worry, the statute of limitations had long run out before I told the tale. I’m no stoolie.

If you go back and look, or if you’ve got a decent memory, you know that my childhood Thanksgivings were damn near the lyrics to the song “Over the River and Through the Woods”…er, only with a mini van instead of the sleigh. You know the song. Your second grade music teacher used to make you sing it over and over and over in the month leading up to Thanksgiving.

Over the river and through the woods to Grandmother’s house we go,

The horse knows the way to carry the sleigh through the white and drifting snow—Oh!

….Over the river and through the woods trot fast my dapple gray,

Spring over the ground like a hunting hound for this is Thanksgiving Day!

That’s the abbreviated club remix. Sorry about the extra bass. Skrillex needed somewhere to spin this holiday and I felt bad for the little guy, ya know? Go get some pie, Skrillex. And please try not to spin it this time, k?

Sorry, folks. He’s a little more of a handful than I imagined.

*smooshy smooshy bwaaaahhhh splatsplatsplat gwaaaaahhh boop splosh*

SKRILLEX! NO! Eat the pie. EAT it!

*hangs head* *shuffles away*

Yikes.

ANYWAY, that song is old fashioned, yet when you hear it (extra bass and all) you get an image, a feeling. It’s special. It’s excitement. It’s a crystal wine glass that you absolutely mustn’t touch, young lady! It’s a holiday, a real, true holiday. THAT was a Thanksgiving when I was a child.

Now?

Look, families have peaks and dips, ebbs and flows with generations. One generation is little enough to want to hide under the snacks table with their cousins and try to snitch extra treats, while the older generation wants to commiserate about having said snacknappers, and the grandpas and great-aunts happily munch cheese in the corner easy chairs.

But then something happens. Time moves on. Soon the little imps are no longer under the table. They are big enough and old enough to start wanting to branch out, to go other places, to start being adults themselves. Some of the adults move, either physically or temporally, and one day, you find that there’s too much uneaten cheese, and empty chairs at a once full table.

I’m not trying to be a downer. Life just happens. Right now the little kids are no longer little, the adults have shuffled off or simply away, and we’ll have to mark time until the elder teens become adults themselves and start providing a new batch of snack-stealing cuties.

A LONG TIME FROM NOW, TEENAGERS. AFTER YOU’RE DONE SCHOOL AND HAVE JOBS AND HOUSES AND MET YOUR PERSONAL GOALS FIRST!! I DON’T REGRET YOU FOR ONE SECOND, BUT I WANT BETTER FOR ALL OF YOU!!!

*achem* Sorry. Just had to make that clear in case any of them are reading this. Babies shouldn’t start happening for awhile yet.

So we’re not doing a bird today.

“*collective gasp from the internet*”

Oh shit. Now Skrillex is looking even more lost and sad. We’re having food, Skrillex. Just not turkey, okay? We’re doing our turkey on Sunday.

“But Bethie, that’s not Thanksgiving!”

…why not? The date is arbitrary anyway. And before you pick up your muskets and torches, it IS arbitrary. The Pilgrims did not dine in celebration with the Native Americans on November 26. Scholars believe the event that truly inspired the holiday happened perhaps as early in the year as July, and certainly not in 1620, as all the place cards we had to make in first grade led us to believe.

They also didn’t have much in the way of turkeys, certainly didn’t wear belt buckle hats, and definitely didn’t wear all black.

But just because we fudged the details doesn’t mean the spirit of the holiday isn’t legit. We should be thankful. We live in a country that might be far from perfect, but it’s certainly also far from the pits. We’ve got food available, clean water, mostly fresh air. There’s still a strong sense of community, even when those bonds are tested, and a genuine desire to find our way back to the top. We’ve got mountains and valleys, prairies and canyons, TWO oceans and so many rivers it’s impossible to see them all. Even if you feel that you’ve got nothing, if you live in this country, you’ve already got a whole lot.

When you look at it like that, does it matter if we sacrifice a turkey on Sunday instead of Thursday? No. No it does not.

Because we’re a blended family, I always let the Others schedule the teens and then do our bird later when the chickadees return to the roost. It makes it much easier than stomping my foot and having a temper tantrum that puts the kiddies in the middle. And it SUCKS to have to have one dinner here, then waste a perfectly good turkey coma by having to rush back to the other family’s house to try and cram in MORE turkey and stuffing. It makes the holiday stressful for a kid to be treated like an overfed yo-yo. Let them go eat other birds today, and then let them have their turkey comas in peace. It’s their right as Americans to eat one enormous meal and pass out on the couch to the sound of their grandfather arguing about the football game with their loud uncle.

Today, it’s just the youngest pup, the guy, and myself at home. Oh, yeah, and Skrillex. We’re going to have Thanksgiving pizza.

*Skrillex perks up*

Get that look off your face right now, young man! YOU CAN’T SPIN THAT EITHER! Geez. Every round thing and he’s just GOT to give it a whirl… *exasperated sigh* Where was I?

Pizza. While not traditionally a Thanksgiving meal, I’ve got to think that if it had been available to them back in the 1600’s, the Native Americans would have just called out for pizza when the Pilgrims were hungry and starving. Would you really want to cook for all those people while you were trying to ready your village for winter? Hm?

The Native American husband would have come home, slung a handful of rabbits on the table. His wife would have said, “Better get cleaned up. We’ve got that dinner with the Smyths.” The husband would have groaned and tried to wheedle out of it. “You said you wanted to be good neighbors,” she’d remind him in that universal tone all wives through history have used. “Fine!” he’d say. “I’ll get cleaned up.” She’d nod, never doubting that he’d get in line, and then remind him that they had to bring the food, too. He’d groan and roll his eyes, then say, “I’ve been out hunting all day, and you’ve been gathering corn and weaving. How about we swing by Little Caesars?” She’d pull a face. “We can’t bring that cheap shit to dinner!” He’d slowly grin. “Why not? They’re Pilgrims, dear. Have you SEEN what they call food? They’re not going to know the difference.” She’d hem and haw, but in the end, they’d have shown up at the first Thanksgiving with ten Hot n’ Ready pizzas.

And the Pilgrims would have rejoiced and given many thanks, for even a Hot n’ Ready piece of shit pizza would have been better than boiled acorn mash.

The day of the week doesn’t matter. The meal doesn’t matter. Today, I’m celebrating the Thanksgiving that could have been, and might possibly be in another universe. On Sunday when I have my teens back home, we’ll celebrate the Thanksgiving that never actually was, at least not on our world. And every single day I’ll be thankful for being where I am, for who I’m with, and for what I have.

*Skrillex drops a poignant beat*

Exactly, man. Exactly.

Thus concludes a quick T-day or P-day, if you’re of the mind, Musing for Thursday, November 26, 2015. Everyone, have a fantastic day today, no matter what you eat or who you eat it with! I’m off to start the pizza dough. Come on, Skrillex. You can finally put those mad spinning skills to work. I’ll mix the dough, and you knead it for me. “Like remixing?” …sure, buddy. Just like that. *rolly eyes*