Tag Archives: Mom’s stories

November 25, 2015 · 0:00

Mom’s Most Memorable Meal

Today as I prepare a million different dishes for Thursday’s feast, I thought I’d share (for a second time) another family story, about the year my Mom forgot her turkey. I’m pretty sure you’ll buy fresh from now on. I certainly do!

HAPPY THANKSGIVING!

It seems like just the other day that I was talking about folks to whom strange things just happen. Maybe that’s because it was just the other day that I told this story.

I have a secret, though. I’m not the only person in my family with this, ummm, gift for attracting the strange and humorous. Dad used to say that if there was a weirdo within 5 miles of him, that weirdo would find Dad and have a nice long chat. But if something weird was going to happen, well, it would happen to Mom. Somehow I managed to inherit both weirdness magnets. Sigh.

But this is Mom’s story.

Mom wasn’t the bird lover in our family. Dad was. So I should have known something weird had happened when Mom identified a bird I was looking at from a distance. Mom and Dad were visiting John and I in Connecticut. She and I were driving not far from our house one day in about 1990, and I pulled over to look at the large birds circling above us. Back then large predatory birds soaring were still an unusual sight — when I saw those large silhouettes, I always assumed they were eagles. I mean, what else could it be? I kept trying to get a good look.

“They’re turkey vultures,” Mom said with complete certainty. “We see them all the time at home in Florida.”

You lookin' for me? (Google image, natch)

They weren’t eagles?
(Google image, natch)

“Turkey vultures?” I said, not believing her for a minute. I’d never even heard of such a creature. Mom pursed her lips and looked back at me, slightly annoyed that I was questioning her (never seen before) bird identification skills.

I should have been suspicious. I should have know there was a story behind Mom’s new-found large bird expertise. I should have known that something weird was involved.

“They’re really big. And up close, they really do look just like turkeys.”

“When did you ever get ‘up close’ to a turkey vulture, Mom?”

She tried to avoid the question.

“Mom….” It was never too hard to get Mom to tell her stories. Something else we have in common. “Fess up…”

“It wasn’t my fault. That refrigerator at home is just too small.”

“Huh?”

“Well, it happened last Thanksgiving, but I didn’t want to tell you,” she laughed. “I knew I’d never hear the end of it.”

“Mom …”

“Dad and I went to the grocery store on Saturday, as usual, the weekend before Thanksgiving,” she continued. “And we bought a frozen turkey for Thanksgiving Dinner.”

“OK.” I wasn’t catching on.

“Well, it was a frozen turkey. Frozen solid. You know it takes days to thaw those things. You might as well try to melt an iceberg. I put it into the roasting pan and placed it on the counter to thaw. But I kept having to move it around that tiny kitchen to do anything else. Then, on Sunday night when I was making dinner, I needed my counter. So I put the still rock hard turkey into the carport.”

“Mom, doesn’t your carport get pretty warm? It is in Florida, after all.”

“Well, that wasn’t really the problem,” she said, laughing. “Not exactly, anyhow. Or not at first. The problem was that I forgot I’d left the turkey there. I woke up Thursday morning, ready to get started on Thanksgiving Dinner and couldn’t find my turkey! I thought I was going nuts. I knew we had bought one. ‘Where’d you put my turkey?’ I asked your father, accusingly. ‘I didn’t do anything with it. Did it get up and walk away?’ he asked. And then I remembered – ‘Oh Lord, it’s in the carport. I hope it’s still OK to eat.’”

“I went out the door to find the carport filled with turkey vultures–I don’t even know how many were in there. They were sitting on the car, on the workbench. On the floor. Everywhere! And you know, they really do look just like turkeys. They have those red heads and bulging eyes. They had torn the packaging apart and were eating our Thanksgiving turkey! I sent your father out to shoo them all away. And then he had to go to Publix to get something for our feast.”

I roared. So did she, remembering.

“I told him to get a piece of beef to roast. I’d had enough birds for a while.”

Mom was absolutely right. Turkey vultures look a whole lot like turkey turkeys. Especially after they’ve just had Thanksgiving dinner.

Photo by Tom Nichols, Fairfield, CA found http://www.ibabuzz.com/garybogue/2011/09/02/turkey-vulture-up-close-and-personal/

Photo by Tom Nichols, Fairfield, CA found here: http://www.ibabuzz.com/garybogue/2011/09/02/turkey-vulture-up-close-and-personal/

Oh, and her instinct was right — she should never have told me this story. She never did hear the end of it!

HAPPY THANKSGIVING to my fellow ‘Mericans!

To those who aren’t over indulging this week, can I send you a few pounds?

37 Comments

Filed under 'Merica, Adult Traumas, Bat-shit crazy, Bloggin' Buddies, Conspicuous consumption, Cool people, Crazy family members, Diet tips, Disgustology, Driving, Family, History, Holidays, Huh?, Humiliation, Humor, laughter, Love, Missing Folks, Mom, Mom would die of embarrassment, Oh shit, Pets, Wild Beasts, WTF?

Tagged as Buy Fresh, Crazy people, Embarrassing moments, Family, Humor, Mom's stories, She really was a good cook

December 22, 2013 · 0:00

Home for Christmas, Again

She told the story every year with a warm smile on her face. Sometimes her eyes got a little bit misty.

“It was 1943, and the War was on, and your father was in the Navy, on a ship somewhere in the Pacific. We never knew where he was. Like all the other boys I knew, he was in danger every day. We lived for the mail, we were terrified of unfamiliar visitors in uniform. A telegram sent us into a panic. And ‘I’ll be home for Christmas’ had just been recorded by Bing Crosby. It was Number One on the Hit Parade.”

That’s how Mom started the story every time.

Of course I’ll Be Home For Christmas was Number One that year. Everyone, or just about, was hoping that someone they loved would, in fact, be home for Christmas. That all the boys would be home for good. But all too many people were disappointed. I doubt there were many dry eyes when that song came on the radio that year or for the next few.

Mom and Dad got engaged right around Pearl Harbor Day, but the War lengthened their courtship significantly because Dad enlisted shortly after the attack. It was to be a long war, and a long engagement. But Mom was in love with her handsome man. If possible, I think that Dad was even more so.

: Mom, Circa 1943

My Dad was drop-dead gorgeous, and I have heard that in his single days, he was a bit of a ladies’ man. Every girl in town, it seemed, had a crush on Dad.

: Dad, Circa 1943

In fact, my Aunt Sally once told me that she had been manning a booth at a church bizarre one Saturday in about 1995, when an elderly woman came up to talk to her.

“Are you Freddie E’s sister?” the woman asked Aunt Sal.

“Yes I am. Do you know my brother?” Aunt Sal responded.

“I did,” she sighed. “I haven’t seen him since we graduated from high school in 1935. Sixty years ago. He was,” she stopped to think of just the right word, “… He was dream-my.”

“He still is,” Sally quipped.

One day not long after after Mom had passed, Dad and I were looking at some pictures I hadn’t seen before.

“Dad,” I told him with wonder looking at a particularly good shot, “You should have gone to Hollywood. You’d have been a star.”

“Nah,” Dad said. “Mom would never have gone with me. And once the war was over, well, I wasn’t going anywhere else without her.”

: Dad circa 1935

Dad never quite got over feeling lucky that he had Mom. And he never stopped loving her.

But back to Mom’s story.

“It was Christmas morning, 1943, and I went over to visit Dad’s mom and dad. Grammy E’d had symptoms of Parkinson’s Disease for seven or eight years at that point. She could still move around (she was later, when I knew her, almost completely paralyzed), but she could barely talk.”

Mom continued. “But your Dad’s mom was singing ‘I’ll Be Home For Christmas.’ Well, she was trying to sing it, any how. She kept repeating that one line, over and over again. ‘I’ll Be Home For Christmas.’ I thought she was crazy.”

“You see,” Mom would say, “Your father had somehow managed to get Christmas leave – he was coming home! He wanted to surprise me and wouldn’t let anyone tell me he was coming. He was expected any minute, and there I was, trying to leave. But I couldn’t stay. That song made me cry; Freddie was so far away, and in so much danger. I couldn’t bear hearing it.”

So Mom left after a while, she had other people and her own family to see. Later Dad caught up with her and they spent most of Christmas together. Both of them always smiled at the memory. Dad was home for Christmas that year, just like in the song. It was a magical year for them both.

Mom was always touched by Dad’s surprise and by his mother’s loving gesture in fighting back the paralysis that was taking over her body to try to get her son’s girl to stay. To sing when she could barely speak.

“I’ve always wished I’d stayed.”

We lost Mom on Easter of 1997, and Dad really never got over her passing.

The song and Mom’s story took on an even more poignant meaning in 2000. Because on Christmas of that year, Dad joined Mom again for the holiday. He went “home” to Mom for Christmas again, joining her in the afterlife.

Even through the sadness of losing Dad on Christmas, I always have to smile when I hear that song. Because I can just see the warmth in Mom’s eyes now as she welcomed Dad home. This time, I’m sure she was waiting for him with open arms.

* * *

This is another re-posted piece.

Happy Holidays to all of you — May 2014 be a Happy, Healthy year for all of us.

59 Comments

Filed under Christmas Stories, Dad, Family, History, Holidays, Humor, Mom, Music

Tagged as Christmas, Family, Holidays, Mom's stories

November 26, 2013 · 0:00

Talking Turkey with Mom

It seems like just the other day that I was talking about folks to whom strange things just happen. Maybe that’s because it was just the other day that I told this story.

But this is Mom’s story.

Mom wasn’t the bird lover in our family. Dad was. So I should have known something weird had happened when Mom identified a bird I was looking at from a distance. Mom and I were driving not far from John’s and my house one day in about 1990, and I pulled over to look at the large birds circling above us. Back then large predatory birds soaring were still an unusual sight — I always assumed they were eagles. I mean, what else could it be? I kept trying to get a good look.

“They’re turkey vultures,” she said with complete certainty. “We see them all the time at home in Florida.”

They weren’t eagles?
(Google image, natch)

I should have been suspicious. I should have know there was a story behind Mom’s sudden large bird expertise.

“They’re really big. And up close, they really do look just like turkeys.”

“When did you ever get ‘up close’ to a turkey vulture, Mom?”

She tried to avoid the question.

“Mom….” It was never too hard to get Mom to tell her stories. Something else we have in common. “Fess up…”

“It wasn’t my fault. That refrigerator at home is just too small.”

“Huh?”

“Well, it happened last Thanksgiving, but I didn’t want to tell you,” she laughed. “I knew I’d never hear the end of it.”

“Mom …”

“Dad and I went to the grocery store on Saturday, as usual, the weekend before Thanksgiving,” she continued. “And we bought a frozen turkey for Thanksgiving Dinner.”

“OK.” I wasn’t catching on.

“Mom, doesn’t your carport get pretty warm? It is in Florida, after all.”

“Well, that wasn’t really the problem,” she said, laughing. “Not exactly, anyhow. Or not at first. The problem was that I forgot I’d left the turkey there. I woke up Thursday morning, ready to get started on Thanksgiving Dinner and couldn’t find my turkey! I thought I was going nuts. I knew we had bought one. ‘Where’d you put my turkey?’ I asked your father. ‘I didn’t do anything with it. Did it get up and walk away?’ he asked. And then I remembered – ‘Oh Lord, it’s in the carport. I hope it’s still OK to eat.’”

“I went out the door to find the carport filled with turkey vultures. And you know, they really do look just like turkeys. They have those red heads and bulging eyes. They had torn the packaging apart and were eating our Thanksgiving turkey! I sent your father out to shoo them all away. And then he had to go to Publix to get something for our feast.”

I roared. So did she, remembering.

“I told him to get a piece of beef to roast. I’d had enough birds for a while.”

Mom was absolutely right. Turkey vultures look a whole lot like turkey turkeys. Especially after they’ve just had Thanksgiving dinner.

Photo by Tom Nichols, Fairfield, CA found here: http://www.ibabuzz.com/garybogue/2011/09/02/turkey-vulture-up-close-and-personal/