Drinking Chocolate Pudding

This year the Lulls are spending Thanksgiving in Charlotte. Like many families, getting together at holiday time is something of a hit or miss endeavor spread out over four states. Seven adults, two little children, two dogs, and two cats will spend three days cooped up in a house with two beds, one baby bed, and, thank God, three bathrooms. I am blessed.

On the bright side, Thanksgiving is way better than Christmas as far as holidays go. I don’t have to buy gifts, and I don’t have to do much cooking either. Years ago I made the supreme sacrifice and turned turkey roasting over to my brother who rises before dawn to fire up the smoker. Unfortunately, Ted won’t be in Charlotte, so the rest of us are on our own. BJ, my culinary-trained son-in-law, foolishly mentioned “frying.” We have been down that sorry road before and have no intention of returning to the scene of the crime.

The first attempt at turkey frying took place on a particularly cold and windy Thanksgiving afternoon. By the time the oil was hot enough to fry a 25 lb. bird, everyone was full of cheese and crackers and the Jell-o mold was runny. Frustrated, BJ and my son, Jeremy, yanked the turkey out of the fryer, sliced it up, and fried it in a skillet. Yum.

Refusing to accept defeat, Jeremy continued over the years to pursue the perfectly fried turkey. Luckily for us, this foolishness took place in Montgomery with his wife’s family on the receiving end. Jeremy eventually destroyed three turkey fryers before conceding defeat. As Jennifer tells it, “One year, the fryer blew out every fuse in the house, and we were in the dark. I thought my aunt, Mary Jane, was going to have a cow. Another year, it literally blew up and I thought we were going to launch the house on fire, and then I think one year, it just didn't work and it was brand new.”

Along with the restaurant turkey, we will have Ted’s Ruthless Dressing, named for one my dad’s girlfriends who was quite unpleasant. Ted’s recipe is typical Southern cornbread dressing with a secret ingredient—sausage. Of course, there is a story here. A couple of years ago, BJ (remember, graduate of culinary school) read “sausage” and immediately thought “kielbasa.” The boy can really cook but don’t let him near Ruthless Dressing or chicken salad.

Mainly, I get to say the blessing, and this year I can think of tons of things for which I am grateful. I am grateful that Tim no longer has a job and can go with me anywhere and everywhere and at any time. I am grateful that the economy has collapsed, and I no longer have to worry about how to spend my money.

I am grateful that our lake house is now a farm house. For the past two years, I haven’t been seasick, and my dog, Lucy, hasn’t contracted the itch from a waterborne parasite. I am grateful for the sweet reminders of last November’s fall from grace at the doll store. The wrist mended nicely, while the crooked pinkie, frozen shoulder, and arthritic thumb are probably intended to build character.

I am grateful to live in a house that can’t be sold, so I won’t have to clean out closets or junk drawers during the holidays. I am grateful that my Toyota Camry is paid for. I am most grateful that my name isn’t on the government’s “No Fly” list. Traveling beats goat gazing every time.

A couple of weeks ago, Tim and I sat in a small café in Perugia, Italy and ordered hot chocolate to ward off the chill outside. Soon, we were sniffing two mugs of steaming chocolate pudding. One sip and our eyes rolled back. Talk about grateful! Then, we came home to a world that was quickly falling apart, where everyone was on the same slippery slope of disaster. I haven’t been right since.

The day after tomorrow the Lulls will gather around the table in Charlotte and acknowledge the bounty of goodness in our lives. Thanksgiving may be a uniquely American holiday; but make no mistake; gratitude is a universal expression of humankind’s need to reconcile God’s amazing grace. No one ever gets exactly what they deserve.

Blessings always include peace; you just have to know where to look.