CONTINUED FROM LAST WEEK:

                Recap: Liddy, the newly married Coursey wife, gets the job of hosting the first Thanksgiving meal for the large family. She has called her father-in-law and her sisters-in-law about customs. She contacted all of them, and now she asks her husband. [This is a letter to her mother, et al.]

                 That left Heth. ‘Hell, I got left out when it came to cooking. Mom taught the other boys, but I didn’t stay home long enough for her to teach me. Maybe I can mooch more of the applejack—uh, cider from Frank—‘He ran out the back door laughing. I yelled after him, ‘You’d better not, you, you—‘I slammed the door and cried. I would make tea and coffee and grape juice for the kids.

                The food was taken care of.  Now, the seating. Nine adults and three children. Our table would seat only eight. I had to figure something out. At first, I thought about asking Tom to help, but when he answered the telephone, I decided against it.

                ‘Tom, what are you doing for Thanksgiving? Why don’t you join us if you—’ But he was cooking for his boarders and folks who didn’t have plans for a big family gathering.

                Aha! I’d sit on the sewing machine stool. Now, I considered linens and dishes, silverware and glasses. Just before I called Papa Quinn, he drove up.

                ‘Thought you might need extra plates and things.’

                Mother, he’d boxed up a set of Sula Mae’s dishes and glasses and flatware. And located some tablecloths and napkins in their buffet. Two baking pans, serving spoons and bowls and two glass pitchers were in another box. He set them on the dining table. ‘I didn’t know what all you had and I don’t need these any longer. You’re welcome to them.’

                I stuttered my thanks.

                Things were coming together. All this done during the first week. Not a bad record, if I do say so myself. I still had to sweep and dust and arrange the furniture. The biggest problem now was where to put the extra table and chairs for the children. Between the kitchen and the back porch is an anteroom just large enough to be a throw-it-all place. I would have to squeeze the table and chairs in there.

                Thank goodness, I had two more weeks. The last Thursday would fall on November 30. How unusual—end the month with Thanksgiving, and begin on Christmas the next day. Things were going well.

                Late on Tuesday, the twenty-first, I answered a knock at the door. Papa Quinn stood there with a big container of meat and a gallon jar of stock.

                ‘I knew you’d need to get this ready tomorrow and cook it Thursday morning. In case no one has told you, we gather about twelve-thirty and eat a half-hour later.’

                ‘But—but—Thanksgiving’s not until next week,’ I said. ‘It’s on the last Thursday, isn’t it?’

                ‘Oh, my goodness,’ he said. ‘The Courseys always consider the fourth Thursday as Thanksgiving.’

END OF CHAPTER 29.

                To read about the Thanksgiving meal, you’ll have to read the book, A JOURNEY OF CHOICE, available from me at plpalaster21@gmail.com, or from Amazon, Barnes&Noble.com or iUniverse.com.

~~~

Thanksgiving, part I: from my novel

 

 

                                                                                                                   November 23, 1933

Dear Mother, Yvonne, Juliana and Mr. Ferrel,

                Thank goodness, Thanksgiving with the Courseys is over! And before I fall asleep and forget even one detail, I must tell you about it. You know from my last letter than the newest member of the Coursey family always hosts the next Thanksgiving meal.

                ‘Tradition,’ Frona Lee informed me in a visit shortly after the chivaree. ‘I did it. Alice and Caroline both did, though it won’t bear repeating how pathetic their meals were.’

                ‘But that doesn’t give me much time!’ I said.

                ‘Didn’t Editor Redd give you the rest of November off—as a wedding present? Use it wisely. You’ll manage somehow. Goodbye.’

                She didn’t mention anything else about the tradition, and I was too stunned by her lack of friendliness to ask. Do you suppose she was still smarting over not getting any say in our wedding?

                Heth had paid no attention, he told me, to earlier Thanksgiving preparations. Only that he appeared when and where he was told.

                ‘You don’t remember what you ate?’ I asked.

                ‘Dressing,’ he said, ‘and sometimes a hen from our backyard. But not always. Guess my brothers killed wild turkeys or bought them in Madison. Don’t expect me to cook whatever you get. I’ve never done that and I don’t intend to start now. You’ll have to ask the girls,’ he said, ‘or your mom.’

                Again, I didn’t ask why he never cooked, but I could imagine he was out with friends, or looking for work or on a drummer’s route. He was spoiled rotten. So I called Papa Quinn with my questions.

                ‘I hate for you to be saddled with hosting Thanksgiving so soon, but you might as well get it over with. The three other girls did all right, but they had Sula Mae for instructions. All I heard from her afterwards was how pitiful their knowledge of cookery and presentation was. But I imagine they have all learned enough by now.’

                Then he changed his tone. ‘How about I kill a couple of the biggest hens in the flock. I’ll pluck and cut them, and bring them for you to cook. One big dish of chicken and dressing will fill the bill. I’ll bring Sula Mae’s recipe, too. Do you have a large enough pan? Can you make giblet gravy?’

                ‘Yes,’ I said, and ‘yes.’ When I asked him about the other food, he couldn’t remember who brought what. ‘But even the men provide something. Ask them what they want to bring. Or make suggestions.’

                So I had to call the others. I’d almost rather have done everything myself, but I knew that wouldn’t do. Frona Lee harrumphed when I told her about the hens.

                ‘He didn’t offer to do that for me! My specialty is jam cake. Lloyd usually does something with his green tomatoes—a relish or a mush.’

                On to the next. ‘Alice, what do you usually bring to Thanksgiving?’

                ‘Oh, lord, honey, it’s your time to host, isn’t it? Some dish using sweet potatoes. We grow tons of ‘em. Ozell delights in bringing his mock pumpkin pie.’

                I asked Caroline last. ‘I can’t cook for a big crowd, sweetie, but I can make applesauce since our orchard produced so well. Mac makes a great corn light bread. He’ll bring enough for everyone. And butter. You poor dear, having to do this so soon after marrying. I’ll help you clean up.’

TO BE CONTINUED. Permission for this copy granted by the author—that would be me.

After two weeks in the Ozarks

 

 

                Home now from two glorious weeks at the Writers Colony at Dairy Hollow in Eureka Springs.

Oh, the new chapters I wrote. Oh, the books I read and reviewed.  And the poems I penned.

               I also contacted the poets who’d submitted to “CALLIOPE: A Writer’s Workshop,” for which I’m the newly-appointed editor.

              What else? I learned to operate the digital camera bought two months ago, and while doing so, discovered the company had been out of business for eight years! Why were their products still being sold?

              I made notes from the books I read. I brainstormed scenarios for the sequel.

                Talya and Dorothy were housemates. We visited over wine-thirty and at dinner.

The last few days, others moved in, either for Crescent Dragonwagon’s Fearless Writing Weekend or for the Colony’s board meeting on Saturday.

Checking my journal, I realized I hadn’t told anyone about the elk head I saw at Marshall on the way up. I’d stopped for gas. Four or five fellows were gathered around a pickup bed. I saw antlers and—nosy, uh, curious me--went over to look. A young man had just killed the beast near Woolem. He described it as “3.5 points.” Woolem was fairly close to Marshall; I passed a sign a little north of there.

For you who like to read about local folks and their “doings,” I have an idea.  Dr. Pat Adcock, professor emeritus at Henderson State University, has written two novels, both of which I read while at the Colony. Bill White of Hot Springs AR especially will enjoy Dr. Adcock’s Muggsbottom stories, for they are set in the Arkadelphia-like town of Arcady. Confession: I loved the books, but I should have had a dictionary at hand. Instead, I listed the unknown-to-me words (I love to find new words.) and later, looked them up.

Some words I knew, thank goodness, from other readings: reprobate, sodomite, debauched, hirsute and reconnoiter. I knew conundrum, cryptic and caveat, contretemps, lachrymose, intimations and histrionics.

But back to the stories: they involve four British gentlemen who do not like the government of Mrs. Thatcher. Therefore, they decide to find another country in which to retire. They butt up against some of the local Arkansas people, their customs and attitudes. The narrator (the thinly disguised author) becomes a friend, observes and reports all their shenanigans. Therein lies the fun.

 Enjoy your autumn-- literally and, if applicable, metaphorically.

A little humor before the year’s over

The Master of Humor, Will Rogers - Google Images



    Below is an email from a brother sent in late January of this year. He teased me saying he thought it would help me keep words in perspective while on my writing retreats. Thanks, Cliff.

 

My  Travel Plans for 2013   I have been in many places, but I've never been in Cahoots.  Apparently, you can't go alone. You have to be in Cahoots with someone.   I’ve also never been in Cognito. I hear no one recognizes you there.   I have, however, been in Sane. They don't have an airport; you  have to be driven there. I have made several trips there, thanks to my children,  friends, family and work.   I  would like to go to Conclusions, but you have to jump, and  I'm not too much on physical activity anymore.   I have also been in Doubt. That is a sad place to go, and I  try not to visit there too often.   I've been in Flexible, but only when it was very important to stand firm.   Sometimes I'm in Capable, and I go there more often as I'm getting older.   One of my favorite places to be is in Suspense! It really gets  the adrenalin flowing and pumps up the old heart! At my age I need all the stimuli I can get!

Let’s stay with humor this week. Here are some poems from Match.com that might tickle your funny bone.

 DETECTED by: Ambrose Bierce (1842-1914)

  In Congress once great Mowther shone,

Debating weighty matters;

Now into an asylum thrown,

 He vacuously chatters.

 If in that legislative hall

 His wisdom still he'd vented,

 It never had been known at all

That Mowther was demented.

FATHER WILLIAM by: Lewis Carroll (1832-1898)
  YOU are old, Father William," the young man said,
 "And your hair has become very white;
 And yet you incessantly stand on your head--
 Do you think, at your age, it is right?"
"In my youth," Father William replied to his son,
 "I feared it might injure the brain;
 But, now that I'm perfectly sure I have none,
Why, I do it again and again."
"You are old," said the youth, "as I mentioned before,
 And have grown most uncommonly fat;
Yet you turned a back-somersault in at the door--
Pray, what is the reason of that?"
"In my youth," said the sage, as he shook his gray locks,
 "I kept all my limbs very supple
By the use of this ointment -- one shilling the box --
Allow me to sell you a couple?"
"You are old," said the youth, "and your jaws are too weak
 For anything tougher than suet;
Yet you finished the goose, with the bones and the beak--
Pray, how did you manage to do it?"
 "In my youth," said his father, "I took to the law, 
And argued each case with my wife;
And the muscular strength which it gave to my jaw
Has lasted the rest of my life."
 "You are old," said the youth, "one would hardly suppose
 That your eye was as steady as ever; 
Yet you balanced an eel on the end of your nose--
 What made you so awfully clever?"
 "I have answered three questions, and that is enough,"
Said his father; "don't give yourself airs! 
Do you think I can listen all day to such stuff?
Be off, or I'll kick you down-stairs!"