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Chuck Hinman. IJMA No. 161: Our Old Fashioned Thanksgiving
It's Just Me Again. No. 161 Our Old Fashioned Thanksgiving
The next previous Chuck Hinman column, Chuck Hinman, IJMA No. 125 : Hinman family dirty laundry
By Chuck Hinman
Our Old Fashioned Thanksgiving
It was the fall of 1952 and Connie and I were talking about plans for Thanksgiving - our first together. We had just been married a few months and about the only thing we settled was "lets have an old fashioned Thanksgiving" - whatever that is.
But in the days to follow, our plans began to fall in place. Best of all we would get to showcase Connie's hope chest as well as some of the nice things we had received as wedding gifts.
We wanted to eat the fare of pilgrims by candlelight only using our new "pretties."
Fittingly and almost by divine design, Connie's boss had given us a carving set in our sterling pattern that I as head of the house would put to use at the appropriate time at our first big dinner.
Married life couldn't get any better, it seemed.
At the numerous wedding showers, we wondered what we would ever use a meat cleaver for. As I remember it came in a set of Chicago cutlery. Read on and see if you can guess....
In a few days, Louise, Connie's sister, agreed to bring an apple-pecan pie made from Louise's original recipe for which she had received an award from Pillsbury.
Several days letter, a co-worker at Phillips mentioned that he was selling geese from his farm near Nowata for Thanksgiving. What a stroke of luck!! What could be more appropriate for an "old fashioned Thanksgiving?"
We were absolutely giddy as we drove to Nowata after work on Thanksgiving eve to pick up our dressed -- ready for the oven goose!
But there was a terrible misunderstanding. Our goose was very much alive and in the hours to follow put up a terrific fight for his life. Our only weapon to kill the goose was... you guessed correctly, the meat cleaver! It was gruesome and gross but you close your eyes and "do what you have to do!" Connie disappeared for hours as I dunked and pulled feathers. There were goose feathers everywhere at the crime scene.
Eight hours later at 2:00 AM on Thanksgiving Day, I wasn't through but gave up, took off my blood and feather speckled jeans, and took a much needed shower and collapsed in bed by Connie. We didn't speak. There wasn't anything to say.
As you have already guessed, the dinner was a flop; the table was beautiful as I remember. But who in their right mind wants to act like they don't mind spitting feathers after each bite.
It was several years after our one and only "Old Fashion Thanksgiving dinner" before Connie and I could laugh ourselves hysterically to sleep reliving that dreadful experience! I no longer have nightmares of a goose staring at me!Pass the turkey...
This story was posted on 2011-11-20 07:33:46
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