December 2, 2006
Although Turkey Day was over a few days ago, we are still rearranging leftovers in the fridge, and there does not seem to be an end to the stuffing.
The boys said I made too much stuffing again this year.
My husband, the pie baker, made too many pies.
I have noticed, however, that no one quibbles much about having too many pies.
Besides, the pies were better than usual this year since my husband has a new pie crust recipe. He got it from my high school classmate Harvey.
Last year at a class mini-reunion over the holidays, Harvey and my spouse sat and discussed pie crust recipes into the wee hours. Not football, mind you. No, they talked about how to make the ideal crust.
Harvey’s recipe is perfect, by the way, and I am not complaining one iota.
Unlike these men though, I have noticed that my women friends and I do not sit around discussing pie crusts at Christmas parties.
I will leave that one to the aging experts to analyze.
I digress; back to the leftovers jammed in the fridge.
When our youngsters were in primary school, one of their favorite poems was “Leftovers” written by Jack Prelutsky in his amusing children’s book, “It’s Thanksgiving.”
I continue to bring the book out each year and display it on the counter wondering if any child of mine will remember it.
I put it there again this year. No one noticed.
Over the years, an offspring or two might actually pick it up and thumb through it.
Occasionally, one of them might reread one of the book’s amusing poems (if no one is looking), such as “Leftovers”:
“Thanksgiving has been over for at least a week or two, but we’re still all eating turkey, turkey salad, turkey stew, turkey puffs and turkey pudding, turkey patties, turkey pies, turkey bisque and turkey burgers, turkey fritters, turkey fries. For lunch our mother made us turkey slices on a stick, there’ll be turkey tarts for supper, all this turkey makes me sick. For tomorrow she’s preparing turkey dumplings stuffed with peas, oh I never thought I’d say this—Mother! No more turkey…PLEASE!”
The kids had another favorite Prelutsky Thanksgiving poem that was sure to bring giggles galore, especially its last line.
“When daddy carves the turkey, it is really quite a sight, I know he tries his hardest but he never gets it right…he seems to take forever as we sit and shake our heads, by the time he’s finished slicing he’s reduced the bird to shreds. He yells as loud as thunder just before he’s finally through for when Daddy carves the turkey, Daddy carves his finger, too.”
This year, once again at our house, Daddy carved his finger, this time while washing the knife in preparation for carving the turkey.
What is a turkey feast anyway without a little blood in the sink and a scurry for Peroxide and Band-Aids?
Perhaps, Turkey Day memories stay with me a little bit longer because of Jack Prelutsky’s entertaining Thanksgiving poems.
At any rate, they are delightful poems to remember.
And, if my eyes did not deceive me, I am quite certain I saw one grown child pick up the book as he was leaving to go back to college.
He had been fussing about eating too much over Thanksgiving vacation, and he said he was going to have to “hit the gym” hard when he got back to school.
As he was lamenting this fact, I heard him laugh and begin to recite:
“I ate too much turkey, I ate too much corn, I ate too much pudding and pie, I’m stuffed up with muffins and much too much stuffin’, I’m probably going to die. I piled up my plate and I ate and I ate, but I wish I had known when to stop, for I’m so crammed with yams, sauces, gravies and jams that my buttons are starting to pop. I’m full of tomatoes and French fried potatoes, my stomach is swollen sore, but there’s still some dessert, so I guess it won’t hurt if I eat just a little bit more.”
With that, he loaded up a couple of whole pies and rode off into the sunset.
As I was saying, no one quibbles much over too many pies.
