Week 456: Black and Blue Christmas

It was Thanksgiving in the United States this week. It used to be a major holiday until the monstrosity called Black Friday relegated Thanksgiving to the holiday second division.

Growing up, I recall the day after Thanksgiving being a busy shopping day, but it certainly was not more important than the holiday nor did anyone camp out in front of Kmart awaiting the doors to open at hell o’clock the next morning. The only downside of the holiday was spending time with relatives that you did your best to avoid all the other days of the year–but our friend alcohol usually solved that, one way or another.

I believe it was during my beloved 1980’s that Thanksgiving began its slide toward relegation. I vaguely recall hearing something about Cabbage Patch Doll Riots in 1983–actual violence, but thought nothing of it until the Tickle Me Elmo craze came along like WWII following the First Great War.

For those unacquainted, Tickle Me Elmo was a Sesame Street character doll who said “adorable” things when you pulled his string. Just another overpriced piece of crap that somehow became the must get Christmas gift for children still of drooling age in 1996.

(Coincidentally, Elmo’s Adult Books and Novelties has stood about a mile from here for almost seventy years. It too advertises string pulling and tickling, and also sells dolls to the lonely.)

Most people found it astonishing that something as stupid as a toy purchase got out of control to the point of bloodshed. Yet every night for about two weeks the news showed footage of shoppers attempting to beat other shoppers to death to secure an Elmo. Just about any available toy (save for the precious Elmo) was used as a weapon. Stores soon secured the aluminum baseball bats as though they were firearms.

In its heyday Thanksgiving was a much friendlier and by far cheaper experience. But it featured one oddity that I have never figured out. No matter how many people came to dinner, there was always an immense amount of turkey leftover–somehow twice the amount that had gone into the oven. This was a magical thing. After dinner came sandwiches, soon followed by soup, casseroles, omelets and hash. It finally ran out when the only new thing left to try was a Turkey Daiquiri.

We used to let the wishbone dry on the kitchen sill for a week or so. Then my brother and I would grab one end and each make a wish–the holder of the bigger half would be the winner. Alas, since we both did all we could to cheat, our wishes were probably disqualified by the Wishbone Fairie. But if I had it to wish over again, I’d ask for Thanksgiving’s promotion back into the first division.

After all, just because money is everything, but it would be nice if just for one day we could pretend that wasn’t true.

And no matter where you are in the world, everyone should be thankful for the five stories we published this week.

Antony Osgood made his fourteenth site appearance Monday with Frank. (There’s luck in that title–for good writers–Jane Houghton has one of the same name in the archives.) Antony’s Frank is a vivid person who appears somehow centered within a chaotic reality he has little control over–it follows the general path of being, yet in such a way that it casts a new light on old conceptions. Only a writer of Antony’s skill can pull off such a thing.

Civilization is full of strange traditions that go back so far that no one can precisely remember how they got started. And so it goes for the Mummers by Cathy Browne. The girls in the story are appealing, and the gentlemen they meet in their changeless club are a bit of a challenge, though not rotters. It is a case of a little diversity entering the old way and the result is a winner. The parallel story of the poor soul who died from starvation adds depth, and is the type of layering you don’t see much in stories anymore.

On Wednesday, Max Klement provided an interesting and harrowing first hand look into a disease. Seizure Fugue is one of those things that medical students should read to get a better understanding of conditions such as epilepsy. They should read good works by addicts and persons who suffer from depression as well. I do not know if that sort of curriculum exists, but it strikes me as a fine idea.

Swerve by Tamara Barrett came by on Thursday. The pace melding with the description is perfect. The moments hang suspended yet they never lose their purpose; this sort of fine narration heightens the experience and you get the feeling of “being there.”

The week closed with Hold Your Breath by Sarah Macallister–whom I wish to thank for taking extra time with bringing this tale to fruition. This is another suspenseful little thing whose narration is extremely focused on the MC but not to the degree of eliminating surprise.

There they are. And if you have been otherwise preoccupied this week, please don’t forget to add these five works to your reading list. You will not be disappointed.

Now for the big close, one somehow related to the opening….hmmmm..Ha! The following are side dishes I associate not just with Thanksgiving, but with winter holiday dinners in general. I realize it’s not this way everywhere; consider this a case of writing what I know.

• Mincemeat! Ever since my grandmother died I am the only one in the family who is all for mincemeat. But it’s getting harder to find real suet at the store. I worked as a wrapper in a meat department for eight years. It amazes me when I ask a modern grocery store “butcher” for kidney fat and I realize that he/she knows nothing about it.
• Candied Yams. I have never tried them, so I cannot rate them–but they sure look gross.
• Sweet Potato Pie. Good but still something you settle for in lieu of pumpkin.
• Chestnut stuffing. I have only heard of it.
• “Fruit salad” The kind that is no more than canned fruit cocktail mixed with ready whip. Usually found on the kid’s table. That’s where I go to get my share.
• Canned Cranberry Sauce. I love the jelly version. Lots of people dismiss the canned stuff, they say it lacks sophistication. All right then, call me a bumpkin. I usually bring a can or three of my own.
• The gallon of gravy your basic turkey provides.
• Feeding the cooked contents of the “gut bag” to the Cat.
• Pouring vanilla extract into your coffee on the sly when teetotaling relatives are around–until noon–when alcoholism is better tolerated.
• Yours

I officially close with a clip from the only Thanksgiving Movie I know of–or at least sat all the way through without objecting to the experience.

Leila