A Thanksgiving Memory

Greetings, salutations and a joyous holiday season to you all! Thanksgiving with the Winthrop clan was, with one small exception, calm and relaxing this year. After the recent unpleasantness, the family consensus was to celebrate the holiday in the welcoming bosom of Uncle Augustus and Auntie Magda's retirement villa in the Catskills. They have only been ensconced there for the past six months or so, since Uncle had installed a large Jacuzzi for long soaks in said cauldron to relieve his increasingly debilitating lumbago. Auntie Magda has also felt more comfortable in that quiet rural location since the arrival of the spa. She says its low rumble reminds her of the sound of city traffic, easing the ache in her heart which is her
homesickness for Manhattan. Late in the eventide she joins Uncle Augustus on the deck, he naked as nature intended, enveloped by massaging bubbles, she in an adirondack, puffing happily on a fat Cuban, regularly, albeit surreptitiously, supplied by Ricardo, her Havana penpal.

But I digress. As I alluded before, this holiday congregation was much subdued until the discombobulating appearance of Cousin Acacia. We were sitting down to feast, when she made her usual promenading entrance accompanied by her j'taime du jour, this time a statuesque Haitian gentleman, tattooed from head to foot (I am told, since mercifully he was dressed the entire time, unusual for some of cousin's associates.) He was a nice enough fellow I suppose (some of the older relations were relieved that, as far as they knew, he was of a different gender than Cousin) but it was hard to know for certain, as he did not speak English, although that mattered little since any one attempting conversation would have been incessantly distracted by a work in progress covering most of his face. It appeared to be a tattoo artist's version of Rockwell's "Freedom from Want", created specially for this very event. However, the work had apparently been interrupted as abruptly as that of the citizens of Pompeii by Vesuvius' eruption, and resembled a partially complete paint by numbers version.

But again I digress! Curse this holiday meal catatonia!

I was speaking of Cousin Acacia's actions. Always the iconoclast, Acacia (Cousin Acid-casualty, the children call her) announced she was converting us all to her new faith of radical veganism. With that pronouncement, she produced a covered dish. With an authoritative snap of her fingers, her tattooed paramour stepped up and removed the lid. There sat a lump, vaguely dome-like in shape, and greyish, brownish, let us say taupeish in color. Speaking for myself I was somewhat amused by this display, at least until Acacia shoved aside my carefully prepared Waldorf salad to make room for her own tray of mystery. Auntie Magda was entering the dining room at that very moment barely visible under the load of roasted avian magnificence that was this year’s turkey. Stopping dead still,
she peered over her burden's still steaming haunches.

"What is that?", she demanded.

"It is tofurkey", haughtily replied Cousin Acacia.

Uncle Augustus rose slowly from his chair, his eyes gloweringly delivering his trademark look of disapproval ("The eye of stink", the children call it). He slammed his cane onto the table, loudly rattling what silver and china was not sent flying.

"There will be no faux turkeys in this house!", he growled.

Foolishly, and alas, typically, Acacia tried to argue her point.

"It is tofu, not meat. It is healthy, good for you. Anyway, I no longer eat anything that once had a face."

Uncle shook and sputtered with rage.

"Get out! And take your circus freak with you, or it may be your own faces being eaten", he shouted.

Cousin turned and stormed out in a huff, her friend scurrying behind her. The tofurkey quickly followed with its own departure. I failed to notice who dispatched it, but I heard its gelatinous impact on the outside lawn. The children later told us even the hounds, which had been released on the retreating cousin and companion, refused to touch it.

Things settled down quickly and we continued what turned out to be a fabulous banquet. Cousin Danforth acted as sommalier, introducing a fine bottle and keeping all glasses brimming. He said he had made his choice after his weekly call to his favorite television psychic.

After dinner we retired to the drawing room for coffee and one of my favorite traditions, the Winthrop String Ensemble performing selections from the Carl Stalling repertoire. For me no family gathering is complete without a rousing rendition of "Putty Tat Trouble Part 6" or "Mouse in the Factory"!

May all of your remaining holidays be as filled!