Sleeping With Turkeys

            A lovely holiday tradition has sprung up in my family.  It started, I believe, when I lived in faraway Washington State and my son lived in Colorado.  The times one or both of us came to Oklahoma for a November or December visit, we celebrated with a holiday meal and gift-giving at my daughter’s house.

            I seem to have used up my cooking skills, meager as they were, in my children’s early years when everything I made was whole wheat, bean-full, low salt, and taste free.  Long after they left the nest, I became the unlikely chef for my aging mother and bachelor brother.  Those were easier (and tastier) cooking years because I had an unlimited grocery budget and did not read labels.

            When I moved to Oklahoma four years ago and took up living solo in the house across the street from my daughter’s family, I left cooking behind.  That, plus the absence of a large enough dining room table, was enough to maintain the habit of celebrating holidays at my daughter’s house.  For Thanksgiving this year, we numbered seven:  Shawn, Dana, Benjamin, Joelle, Josiah, Joseph, and me.

            Conversation meandered along assorted topics, with Benjamin providing the background celebratory sounds and Joelle acting as emcee.  At some point, we grown-ups talked about how eating a lot of turkey makes one sleepy.  Meanwhile, eight-year-old Benjamin finished his full plate in record time, four-year-old Joelle asked for gravy to drink, and two-year-old Josiah held his spork in his right hand while using his left hand to finger-feed himself the yummy homemade stuffing and heavenly cranberry gelatin salad.  He ignored Dana’s delicious turkey, savory vegetable medley, scrumptious sweet potatoes, and my tasteless roasted green beans with red potatoes. (I forgot to add the minced garlic.)   It should be noted that he later chowed down on Dana’s homemade pumpkin pie with coconut whipped cream.

In the living room after that wonderful feast, my son felt sleepy.  Leaning back into the loveseat recliner, he closed his eyes.  Four-year-old Joelle loudly reported, “Joseph is sleeping with turkeys!”  Dana and I laughed till we cried.