Plan
Ahead for a Smooth
Turkey Day
Day
1 - I think I'll
have everyone to
my house for
Thanksgiving this
year. It will be
fun to have the
family all
together! I have
nearly two weeks
to make plans, so
I'll get
everything ready
ahead of time.
Day
2 - Call and
invite everyone
and ask him or her
to bring a dish.
Mom will bring
green beans, but
is it okay if she
just brings them
in the can? Sis is
on a diet and can
only eat lettuce.
Daughter will
bring dessert
since pumpkin pies
are on sale at
Kroger's. Daughter
#2 will bring a
can of cranberry
sauce. Son will be
eating with his
wife's family
first. Don't wait
dinner.
Day
3 - Where is the
turkey roaster? I
know I used to
have one. I can't
find the meat
thermometer
either. How do you
cook a turkey
anyhow? It's been
so long I don't
remember. Do they
come with
directions? Good
thing I'm planning
ahead.
Day
4 - Make up
grocery list. Rob
a bank and then go
buy everything I
will need.
Day
5- Take turkey out
of freezer and
start letting it
thaw. Only one
week left until
the big day!
Day
6 - Plan ahead for
using leftovers.
I'll probably be
stuck with 20
pounds of cold
turkey. Try to
find recipes for
turkey hash,
turkey potpie,
turkey sandwiches,
turkey soup,
turkey salad, and
turkey casserole.
Day
7 - Drag out all
the good china
that is packed
away and wash it.
Polish the
tarnished silver.
Maybe we could
just use paper
plates and napkins
with a nice
picture of a
turkey next time?
Day
8 -
Pumpkin-scented
candles will make
a nice centerpiece
for the table as
long we don't
forgot to blow
them out and burn
the house down
like Aunt Mary did
a few years ago.
Day
9 - Do I have
enough extra
chairs? Oh, my,
gosh! Let's see, I
can use the ones
from the card
table, the typing
chair with wheels
from the computer
desk, the rocking
chair from the
bedroom, and the
small stepladder
from the garage if
worse comes to
worse.
Day
10 - Continue
looking for stupid
recipe book with
sweet potato
recipe and
how-to-cook-a-turkey
directions. Clean
out kitchen
cabinets and
drawers. Finally
find recipe book
behind the pots.
Oh, well, the
cabinets needed
cleaning anyhow.
Day
11 - Pray that
glass dish with
sweet potato
casserole does not
crack in oven
after being in
refrigerator all
night. It was the
only one I had
that was big
enough.
Day
12 - Thanksgiving
- PANIC! Turkey is
still frozen. Cook
it with paper
& giblets
inside because
they won't come
out. Fix instant
stuffing from a
box -- no one will
know.
Guests
arrive and offer
to help after
everything is
done. The men only
want to watch
football on TV.
The turkey sticks
to the bottom of
pan and won't come
out. The kids
chase the cat and
it jumps on table.
Everyone fills up
on the cheese ball
and crackers and
isn't hungry.
Everything
is ready to serve,
but no one will
come to table
until the football
game is over.
They
finally eat, brag
about how good the
dressing is, and
suggest that we do
it again at
Christmas.
I've
started a holiday
tradition.?
After
I recover from my
heart attack and
restart my heart,
I suggest that we
alternate houses
and I offer to
bring dessert. No
one says anything.
After
they leave, I put
the battery back
in the smoke alarm
and feel thankful.
No, not because it
is Thanksgiving.
I'm thankful
because they are
all gone, the
potato casserole
didn't crack, I
only have 10
pounds of leftover
turkey, the
football game is
over, and I
remembered to blow
out the candles.
Copyright
2006 Sheila Moss
The
Worrywart
What
is it that makes
people worry way out
of proportion to the
reason for their
concern? Some call
it being overly
obsessive. Some call
it maternal
instinct. I don't
really know how to
define it; however,
I think all mothers
worry about their
kids. My mother used
to call this sort of
anxiety being a
"worrywart."
Suppose
you don't hear from
your kids for a few
days or a few weeks.
We are talking grow,
adult children who
have left the nest
here, not little
children that live
at home. Still, when
they are late or
missing, I imagine
the worse. Something
has happened. I
panic and begin to
imagine all sorts of
silly things until I
call on the phone
only to have them
say, "What's
wrong Mom?
Everything is fine
here. We've just
been really
busy."
Worrywart
syndrome.
It's
especially bad for
me because my
youngest daughter,
due to some bad luck
and bad health, came
back home to live
with me for a while.
It's really hard to
emotionally separate
when they are right
there under your
nose and you see
their every move.
And it's even harder
when they should be
under your nose and
you don't know where
they are at that
particular moment.
If
my daughter is late
getting home, I
panic. She must have
had a wreck! She is
probably unconscious
in a ditch somewhere
-- she might be
dead. I fret and
fret, can't sleep. I
call on her cell
phone and leave a
message. "Call
mom. I'm worried
sick because you are
not home."
She
calls, "Mom, I
just had to work
late."
Everything is fine.
Go back to
bed." I
feel so foolish. An
old woman that can't
let go of her
children or cut the
apron strings!
What's the matter
with me?
Worrywart
syndrome.
I
can no more stop
worrying about my
children than I can
stop loving them. I
guess it comes with
motherhood, this
built-in need to
worry. Some fight it
successfully and say
that they don't
worry any more.
Others give in to it
and become nagging
old cronies,
controlling the
lives of the kids
and not letting them
be their own person.
I don't want to do
THAT! So, I
just worry instead.
Worrywart
syndrome.
I
guess it's
inherited. I
remember when I was
a teenager, how my
mother was always
concerned about my
whereabouts. I
couldn't understand
it. I don't want my
kids to resent me or
to think I'm
interfering in their
lives. I always
thought my mom was
nuts, getting upset
if I was thirty
minutes late getting
home. Now I know
that I have the same
disease.
Worrywart
syndrome.
If
there is a cure, I'd
sure like to get the
medicine. "Just
let go", you
say! "You've
done your job. Get a
life!"
obviously, you are
not a mother. I have
a life. But, there
is a second sense
that lets you
"feel it in
your bones"
when things are not
right. Of course,
you can easily
misread this
feeling.
Motherly instinct is
just a feeling, not
always a reality,
and this is where
the problems come
in. Is it actually
motherly instinct or
something else?
Worrywart
syndrome.
Actually,
this whole issue is
a bit ridiculous.
Kids grow up. I need
to say goodbye to
them, do my own
thing, be happy with
their
accomplishments. I
don't really want to
live anyone else's
life. My own is
enough, thanks. I
just wish they would
call home more
often, that's all.
The
harder I try not to
worry, the more I
worry. Then I worry
about being worried.
How do you break out
of this circle?
Maybe I'll figure it
out later. Right now
my daughter is late
and I have to call
and be sure
everything is okay.
Something could have
happened.
Worrywart
syndrome.
Copyright
2006 Sheila Moss
Hamster
Dance
Ever
since he has been old
enough to walk, my
grandson has wanted a
hamster. He is drawn
to the hamster cages
in pet stores like a
moth to the light. We
have to pry him loose
with promises.
"When
you are old enough to
take care of it, you
can have one."
The
other day the topic of
small animal pets came
up again. I don't
remember why --
probably my brain is
trying to block out
the memory. "When
he is old
enough." I began.
Then I remembered that
he is nearly eight
years old now.
He
is old enough.
Some
preliminary checking
on the Internet
revealed that cages
have changed a lot
since I was last in
the hamster market.
They are no longer
simple wire cages with
exercise wheels. They
are colorful
multi-level habitats
with towers and
tunnels for the
hamster to play in --
in other words, rodent
condos.
We
decided to let my
grandson pick out the
hamster he wanted. Of
course, he was
thrilled when he got
the news. We had to
wait until after
dinner to tell him as
we knew he wouldn't
eat otherwise.
"I
can have a hamster?
For real?" he
squealed. "I've
always wanted a
hamster!"
We
knew that.
I
remember the first
hamster we ever had
for a pet, Squeaky.
Shortly after bringing
it home, it had three
babies. I will be sure
to get a male this
time.
At
the pet store there
were dozens of
hamsters. His mother
somewhat favored a
small gray longhaired
one. However, my
grandson wanted the
very active, brown and
white shorthair. I had
forgotten how much
they look like rats.
It was too late to
back out now, though.
The
Internet promised that
hamsters are
inexpensive pets after
the initial
investment.
My
grandson chose a
habitat. By the time
we add litter, food,
an exercise wheel, an
igloo to sleep in,
vitamins and chew
sticks, the bill was
more than I care to
think about,
especially for buying
a rodent.
Was
it only last year that
I was trying to trap
mouse rodents in the
garage? Of course, I
didn't mention that
out loud.
"Besides, this is
not a mouse," I
keep telling myself.
I'm thankful that he
didn't want a gerbil.
Talk about looking
like a rat! At least
hamsters don't have
long creepy tails.
And
so, we have a new
member of the
household now. The new
addition is named
"Buddy." He
seems to be adjusting
well to the new
environment, climbing
up and down the
tunnels of his habitat
and running for hours
in his exercise ball,
which is about all a
hamster knows how to
do. He loves lettuce
and stuffs it in his
pouches like a
squirrel.
I
remember that hamsters
are escape artists and
can learn to open a
cage. One pet even
learned to roll its
plastic exercise ball
against the furniture
until it would pop
open.
Buddy
has already cracked
out of his habitat
twice. I don't know
how he managed to
unlock the door, but
he apparently spent
the night in the heat
vent and came out the
next morning tired and
thirsty and rubbing
his eyes. Just what I
need, a rodent loose
in the house.
The
second time he
escaped, he was
apprehended behind the
living room curtains.
His doors are now
securely taped shut.
We may have to add a
barbed wire fence,
alarms and spotlights.
"You
have to remember to
wash your hands after
you play with
it," I told my
grandson. "And
keep its cage clean so
it doesn't get sick,
and give it fresh
water every day. And
be gentle with it so
it doesn't bite.
And."
Oh,
well, I might as well
save my breath. He
isn't listening
anyhow. It is good for
a child to have a pet
to care for and love.
At least that's what I
keep telling myself.
I
just wish it didn't
look quite so much
like a rat.
Copyright
2006 Sheila Moss
Clean
Up, Spruce Up, Fix Up
Spring
is officially here now.
Clean up, spruce up, fix
up, is in the air. I
don't want to remodel
the entire house but I
just can't seem to help
myself. No matter how
much I argue, the
adrenaline seems to take
over and I find myself
working like my
mother-in-law is coming
to visit.
Adrenaline:
Go to the store and buy
supplies.
Self:
I don't want to fix
anything!
Adrenaline:
You heard me! GO!
Self:
Well, maybe I can get
some paintbrushes and
caulk for the bathroom.
Adrenaline:
And then find the paint
and touch up the walls.
Self:
I am sort of getting
used to the
"distressed"
look.
Adrenaline:
That's for furniture -
not the living room
wall.
Self:
Oh.
Adrenaline:
I thought I told you
last week to chip out
all the cracked caulking
in the bathroom.
SELF:
I did, but I was too
tired to finish the job.
Adrenaline
: So, its just sitting
there half done - when
do plan to finish it?
And what about the
painting?
SELF:
Paint is messy and I
really don't want to get
into something like that
until I can finish the
entire house at one
time.
Adrenaline
: The outside of the
house needs some work
too. Those shutters
could use a new coat of
paint.
Self:
Yes, yes, I know.
Couldn't I just hire
that done?
Adrenaline
: Pay? For something you
can do yourself?
SELF:
But, everything in the
living room needs to be
moved around for that
stupid TV cabinet we
bought. Pictures will be
in the wrong place. I'll
have to touch all that
up too. I don't know why
I ever got into this.
Adrenaline
: The more you get done
now, the less to do
later.
Self:
I really would rather
take a nap.
Adrenaline::
And what will you do
when the house falls in
from neglect? Nap?
Self:
Okay, okay, but that
stupid hutch is full of
dishes. I'll have to
take those out before I
can move it.
Adrenaline:
So??
Self:
I can see it now. My
entire weekend shot. I
won't have time for my
regular schedule due to
all the extra stuff, and
next week I'll be
further behind than
ever.
Adrenaline:
Excuses, excuses,
excuses. Are you taking
your vitamins?
SELF:
NO! I don't have time to
take vitamins! I'm too
busy painting and moving
furniture!
Adrenaline:
Calm down, it will all
be done eventually, and
just think how nice it
will look.
Self:
I didn't think about all
the work involved.
Adrenaline:
These living room
curtains are a bit drab.
Don't you have some
others upstairs? You've
been meaning to bring
those down for years and
never have.
Self:
I'll have to buy
different rods and put
those up first.
Adrenaline:
Well, after you move
stuff into the living
room, you will spend
more time there. If you
really want to look at
those stupid curtains
for the rest of your
life go ahead!
Self:
I wonder what I did with
the electric drill the
last time I used it.
Adrenaline:
I was just thinking. Do
you know how to hang
wallpaper? The bathroom
is really getting bad.
Self:
I swore I'd never try to
hang wallpaper again.
The last time I tried, I
was saying "sailor
words" before I got
done.
Adrenaline:
Pity, if you were not
resistant you could
really fix things up
around here. Did you
notice the paint on the
patio table is chipped?
You really need to do
something about that
too.
Self:
You are killing me!.
Adrenaline:
Shut up! Women are
supposed to spruce up
and fix up in the
spring. It's
traditional.
Self:
If it wasn't for you
maybe I could get some
rest.
Adrenaline:
Don't blame me. I'm only
doing my job. If it
wasn't for me, nothing
would get done around
here.
Adrenaline:
No one has ever died
from spring fever.
Self:
What about an adrenaline
overdose?
Copyright
2006 Sheila Moss
Furniture
Safari
I've
not purchased any
furniture in a long time
--- so long I don't even
want to think about it.
After all, who needs
furniture? Once you buy
it, it lasts forever,
except maybe an
upholstered piece or two,
but even that can be
recovered and made like
new.
I've
been thinking about my
home lately. It is always
dangerous when a woman
thinks about her home,
especially in the spring.
We are sitting scrunched
up in a small
bedroom-turned-office with
computers and a TV, while
in the front of the house
there is a large living
room that is hardly
touched at all.
It
just doesn't make sense.
We need to utilize our
space differently and
start taking advantage of
the space we have instead
of saving it -- what are
we saving it for? Company?
Company doesn't have to
live here, but I do and my
elbows are tired of
bumping into stuff.
We
need some new furniture,
something that looks
decent instead of the
make-do mess that is good
enough for the office, but
not for the living room.
We need something for the
TV and all the junk that
goes with it. We can move
the TV to the living room
to utilize our space, but
we can't have that tacky
TV sitting in the living
room in its current black,
plastic glory.
It's
time to go shopping.
Now,
just walk in a furniture
store and look as if you
have come to spend money
and the sales people are
on you like vultures on
carrion. "What are
you looking for
today?" "Let me
show you this one."
"Did you see that one
over there?"
When
I shopped for furniture
back in the dark ages,
life was much simpler.
Nowadays a TV needs a
media center with cabinets
for components, expandable
bridges over the top, and
glass shelves. I had no
idea of the sort of stuff
that is on the market.
We
are led around the
cavernous store in a daze.
I want everything I see
and each item is prettier,
and more expensive, than
the last. But, eventually,
everything begins to look
the same and it all sort
of blends together in one
giant wall unit. I can't
remember what I saw ,
where I saw it, how much
it cost, what size it was,
or anything else --even
though I thought I was
being smart by writing
information down.
We
wander around furniture
stores that are all the
same; looking at furniture
that is all the same,
while smiling salespeople
that are all the same
follow us sniffing. This
item is sort of what we
want, and that one is
better but not exactly it
either. That one is too
expensive and we might be
able to afford that one,
but it is not the right
size.
How
do you get out of here? I
need time to think."
Our only chance is when a
young couple that looks
newlywed walks in the
door. "I think I'm
being paged," says
the salesperson, as he
excuses himself.
"Here, take my
card!"
I'm
beginning to wonder if
rearranging the house is
such a good idea after
all. We may be cramped and
tacky, but at least we
don't have to spend all
our free time on furniture
store expeditions. My head
hurts, my knees ache, and
I need to go to the
bathroom.
Believe
it or not, there are still
some other stores that my
honey wants to look at
before we buy as if I'm
not confused enough
already. Maybe sooner or
later we will find
something that is the
right style, right price,
right wood, and right
size.
In
the meantime, my cramped
little office is becoming
smaller and smaller every
day. I'm beginning to
hallucinate that I'm being
stalked by a furniture
salesman with a remote
control, which changes
furniture from one style
to another, one size to
another, and one item to
another.
If
we could only find the
remote button that lowers
the price, we might be
ready to buy.
Copyright
2006 Sheila Moss
London's Last Fling
The entire time that I was
in London, I was never able
to figure out British money.
I don’t know why they don’t
just use Euro’s like the
rest of civilized Europe --
not that I could figure that
out either.
The dollars there are coins
that look like a nickel,
quarters are dimes, dimes
are nickels, copper quarters
are two cents and Susan B.
Anthony dollars are fifty
cents. They also had other
strange coins that resembled
Chuck E. Cheese slot machine
coins.
We spent our last day at the
Tower of London, an old
fortress from medieval days,
with fabulous new additions
only a century or two old.
In addition to other
attractions, the crown
jewels were on display
there. Apparently, the
royals believe, “If you’ve
got it, flaunt it.” Security
was very tight and we were
not allowed to take
pictures.
The royal guards, also
guides, were called
“beef-eaters,” either
because they are partially
paid in beef or because the
word closely resembles a
French word that has
something to do with serving
the queen. I’m not sure
which one is correct, but
neither were they.
There were stone towers with
spiral stairs to climb in
and shining suits of armor
on display rendering a
fairyland type of
atmosphere. It was one of
the most interesting places
we visited, which made me
sort of glad we had saved it
for the last day.
After the Tower, we went to
Herrod's Department Store,
which like everything else,
looked like a church. The
inside was very unusual,
with Egyptian statues and
elaborate ceilings and light
fixtures. They had a wide
assortment of food rooms and
goods from all over the
world, but we decided to buy
our souvenirs some place
cheaper.
We did touristy things like
making pictures of each
other in the red phone
booths that are all over the
place, and shooting pictures
of double-decker buses from
the window of a pub. We
wandered Piccadilly Circus,
stumbled on China Town, and
ended the day with a theater
production of Mary Poppins,
which seemed appropriately
British.
The next morning we had to
leave early for the airport.
There was the aggravation of
waiting in a line of fifty
people at the Underground
with only one person selling
tickets, and then having
that person leave to help
someone who lost change in a
machine while the entire
line waited. We were sorry
later that we didn’t think
to give the guy a pound and
tell him to get lost.
We had to change trains
twice on the way to the
airport because the driver
left and the new driver
wasn’t there, or some such
nonsense. We still don’t
know what happened, but
apparently if someone is
late for work, the train
just waits till they get
there. Boarding the plane,
we found that they had sold
six tickets for four seats.
Fortunately, the plane was
not full, so we did not have
to ride on the wing or
demand free tickets.
All in all, the trip was
successful. We remembered to
look right instead of left
and left instead of right,
although there was the one
close call with a crazed
bicycler. The hotel didn’t
burn down from plugging
everything into one plug,
and we resolved the currency
problem by just using a
charge card.
Traveling during the day was
definitely much better than
the trip over when we
traveled at night and
pretended to sleep. But the
inconvenience of travel
brought us back to reality
in a hurry. There was a good
feeling when the plane
landed back in American
territory.
And now I’m an experienced
world-wide, traveler, my
eyes are sore from looking
and my feet still ache. I
can report that there is
definitely life out there.
But it sure is great to be
back where the big hair is
on the ladies instead of the
big-wig guys in museums.
Copyright 2005 Sheila Moss,
http://www.humorcolumnist.com
Visit my website for the
latest humor.
Interview with a Turkey
Good day, Mr. Turkey. Thank
you for agreeing to speak
with us about life in the
turkey shed and the
approaching holiday season.
1. What sort of goals in
life does a turkey have?
Well, I’ve been on a very
strict diet lately. We
turkeys have to really watch
our weight at this time of
the year or we could end up
in hot water. My actual goal
is to shrivel up to about
the size of a feather
duster.
2. Do you try to keep a
positive attitude?
Oh yes, I’ve been lucky so
far, made it though several
Thanksgivings already. Just
have to hide behind the door
when you see them coming
with the meat thermometer.
3. Do you have any
significant relationships?
Well, I’m not exactly a
lovebird as I’m too old and
fat to spread my
tailfeathers and strut. The
missus does have some
good-looking thighs, though,
and plenty of white meat in
the right places.
4. What do you think about
the Thanksgiving holiday?
Well, I’m a vegetarian
myself. However, if you
really want to know what
being thankful is, visit the
turkey shed on the day after
Thanksgiving and talk to
some of the turkeys that are
still around.
5. Do you ever think you
would like to move to a
place where they don’t
celebrate Thanksgiving?
What I’d really like to do
is be a guerrilla turkey,
live in the wild, and carry
a gun to protect myself.
They like turkey everywhere.
Some places just spread it
out through the year a bit
more.
6. Are turkeys the only
animals with this type of
situation?
No, chickens have it pretty
rough too. They are always
in season. So are pigs and
cows… which are much more
delicious than turkey, by
the way.
7. How do you deal with the
constant challenge of
unpredictable situations?
The only thing unpredictable
is when -- and with how much
cranberry sauce on the side.
How would you like it, never
knowing if you will be
deep-fried, roasted, or made
into lunchmeat?
8. Don’t you like being a
turkey?
Well, I’ve never been
anything else, so that’s a
bit hard to answer. I just
wish those Pilgrims had
never started this
Thanksgiving stuff.
9. But, you must get a warm
feeling from being wanted?
I try to avoid feeling warm,
to tell the truth. I’m
afraid that if I get too
warm it may be a bad sign,
especially if it’s at 325
degrees. Some days I have to
check my popup timer just to
be sure that I’m still
alive.
10. Overall, would you say
you are satisfied with your
life?
There are a lot of things
I’d like to accomplish
before I go, like revenge
against the meat industry,
for instance. But I try not
to dwell on those thoughts.
12. Do you try to make a
good impression on others?
Are you kidding? I smoke
cigars just to make me cough
so they will think I’m too
sick to slaughter. I may be
a turkey but I’m not stupid!
12. But, don’t you believe
that a turkey that isn’t
consumed is useless?
Useless? I’ll tell you
what’s useless. This stupid
interview is what’s useless.
Just get out of my beak. You
are starting to really
ruffle my feathers.
Well, maybe we better call
it a day. I’ve got to hurry
home and get ready for
Thanksgiving. All the
relatives are coming, and...
er… I guess maybe one of
your relatives as well.
So... that’s it from the
turkey shed, folks. Thanks
for the interview. Good
luck, and I hope you will be
around for a follow-up next
year!
Copyright 2005 Sheila Moss,
http://www.humorcolumnist.com
Visit my website for the
latest humor.
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