Catch Your Own Thanksgiving Turkey

Examiner.com, Nov. 12,2009

Slanted for publication in Jewish Press November 19,2009

Most of my friends know I’m not a big Thanksgiving fan. If it were up to me, I’d just celebrate Halloween twice and call it good. However, I have American children, and they need to know these things: time to make up the balance, and see what they actually know about this holiday.
Mendel’s answer is quick: you eat turkey. Since I have weaseled my way out of cooking a Thanksgiving bird as long as he’s been alive, this is somewhat surprising: I ask him where he is going to get this turkey.

“You go into the woods and find one,” he says.
“Then what?”
“You catch it.”
“How do you plan on doing that?”
“You catch it with a net, bring it home, and eat it.”
“Shouldn’t we cook it first?”
“Yes. Before you eat it.” (Oh, good)

I question whether it wouldn’t be easier to just buy one at the store, but he is adamant: a Thanksgiving turkey needs to be caught in the woods. Which woods, I don’t know: we live in Millard. I don’t think there are any wild turkeys available. Raccoons, yes, but I wasn’t planning on serving those for Thanksgiving.

Of course, there is much more to this Holiday than food; this is a time to remember the things we are grateful for. For many Americans, this is harder than ever, and our family is no different. It is, after all, much easier to focus on the hardships than it is on the good stuff. Yet, in this economic climate, remembering the things that are good is extremely important, lest we lose sight of what matters. We have a great family, our health, and even though it’s leaky, we have a roof over our heads. It sounds preachy, doesn’t it? Who would have thought we would be repeating our grandparents’ clichés so adamantly: “At least you have your health!” Yikes.

My children don’t care about bills and mortgages, lost bonuses and high taxes. They are eternally hopeful, and able to focus on the small pleasures. A nice lunch, an extra story before bedtime, not forgetting your swimming bag on Wednesday, and finishing your homework in under an hour. They, unlike us, live in the now, where nothing is impossible, as long as you can imagine it. Maybe this Thanksgiving, we can take a page out of their book, and forget about yesterday and tomorrow, and just treasure the moment. Take a break, and just breathe.

And if the price of turkey at the store throws us into a tailspin, well: we can always take Mendel’s advice, and catch one in the woods. Does anybody have a net we can borrow?

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Pet Peeves

This morning, at preschool, my son threw a miniature fit. He drew a picture, folded it up neatly, and attempted to stick it in his pocket. “No,” said the teacher, “you’re supposed to hang it on the wall.”

This was not what he had planned; he cried a bit, stomped off to the hallway and pouted for a minute or two. The teacher, who is smarter than him, left him alone; eventually he came back inside and everything was fine. He just needed to get it off his chest. He forgave his teacher; she couldn’t know she had made a cardinal mistake by deciding something without him.

Mendel believes in discussing things, weighing options, carefully coming to an agreement. He is all about compromise and input, and would love it if we took a vote on everything. Maybe I have taken him to too many board meetings; he is a democratic creature, and does not respond well when simply told what to do.

Getting a little worked up now and then is acceptable behavior, I think; we all have our pet peeves. Mine is wasting food: you finish your plate, and if it really can’t be eaten anymore it is composted. My daughter hates turtlenecks and sleeping under a blanket. My husband has a thing about ugly shoes, and the use of the word “piggy-back” during meetings. The essence of a good pet peeve, however, is that it isn’t something you are confronted with all the time.

The thing with Mendel’s pet peeve is, he’s taking it too far. After all, you can’t argue every decision in life; at some point you just have to accept the status quo and get in line. You can’t argue with the weather or with traffic lights, and Tuesday will not magically turn into Friday just because you come up with great arguments. This means he gets his feathers ruffled on an hourly basis.

My hope is that, at some point, he will update his pet peeve. Maybe he can start disliking something that he doesn’t experience so often, like Christmas Elves, or people who hand out toothpaste on Halloween. Groundhog Day, Fireworks, or the Super Bowl: there are many things that you confront once a year, for a short period, so you more or less get 11 anger-free months. I think it’s a great idea.

Now, how do I go about fostering a deep-seated hatred of Elves?

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From Macaroni Art to David Lynch

My son came home the other day with macaroni art. Okay, technically, it wasn’t macaroni; it was differently shaped pasta, spray-painted and glued in a random pattern to a piece of paper. It wasn’t an isolated incident either; earlier this week, he glued Apple Jack cereal to cardboard; I ask you, is this an acceptable thing to be doing during an artist’s formative years?

“What are they teaching you at that preschool,” I asked him, “How do you ever expect to become a fabulous artist if you waste your talent on macaroni?” He shrugged and walked away. He didn’t ask me to put it on the fridge, either: instead, he kind of hid it underneath a pile of mail where I came upon it by accident. He seemed slightly embarrassed about the whole thing. “Don’t do this again,” I warned him, “or there will be consequences.”

Then I remember a documentary about David Lynch I watched years ago. In it, Lynch talks about some recent artwork he’s been working on: he has nailed several slabs of raw meat to a board, and is watching it decompose. First, it changes color, then it become infested by maggots; eventually it turns into a nasty slimy mess, crawling with bugs and the stench becomes unbearable. I think his son talks about marching ants in one of the scenes; the whole family appears slightly disgusted but otherwise unfazed. It’s art, although perhaps not for the masses, but what are you going to do in this day and age, when everything’s been done before? You expand your horizon, that’s what; you find society’s limits, and you challenge them.

The limits in our house definitely include macaroni art; it’s stale, it’s childish, and it’s something I thought Mendel had left behind when he grew out of his diapers. Maybe because of that attitude, we have turned it into a taboo: art with food? Bah!
Taboos are solid gold, as far as artists are concerned, and when you look at it that way, even macaroni art can become fresh and modern again.
Also, he’s watched that strawberry scene in Across the Universe many times, so maybe this isn’t a lapse; maybe it’s a developmental leap. Yes, that must be it. I guess this marks the beginning of Mendel’s food period; I wonder how long it will last. Perhaps I should dig up the macaroni sheet, and hang it on the fridge after all.

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