Thanksgiving Day Doings

            It is Thanksgiving time, a traditional holiday that was started by the Pilgrims, a group of intrepid voyagers who decided to put ashore not far from the site of present day Boston due to the fact that they were nearly out of beer.

            Sadly, Sam Adams Brewery wouldn’t come into existence for several more centuries, so the Pilgrims had to make do that awful substance known as “lite” beer. This and the total lack of televised parades and football games were among the many harsh privations that our pioneering forebears were forced to endure.

            Things have changed tremendously since that first Thanksgiving. For instance, the average modern American will now consume more calories on Thanksgiving Day than were contained in the entire original Thanksgiving feast.

            They say that the most important exercise you can perform during the Holidays is grasping the edge of the table and pushing yourself away. Like many, I find it nearly impossible to follow this brutal exercise regimen. Plus, pushing back from the table only puts me in closer proximity to the kitchen counter which is loaded with plates full of yummies, some of which I have sampled only a couple of times. Certainly that luscious lefse could stand more scrutiny!

            And like many, my waistline gives testimony to my failure to perform these dinnertime push-backs. But it’s not my fault! The forces aligned against me are simply too powerful.

            For example, there once was a time when I would only catch an occasional glimpse of a cooking show on TV. Watching such programs made me feel like when I was a kid and stumbled across the Ladies Foundation Garments section of the JC Penney catalogue. Whoa, what have we here? Boo-yah!

            Nowadays, there are entire networks that are dedicated solely to food. It’s nothing but food this and cooking that! Salacious terms such as sauté and baste and glaze are tossed about with total abandon. Bingeing on a cooking network is roughly equivalent to constantly hearing, “Hey, big boy! Want to watch while I whisk up some meringue?”

            It doesn’t help that many of the chefs on such shows tend to be ladies who are, shall we say, “experienced” in the field of food. Ladies who are comfortable with the fact that they have done very few tableside push-backs. But this only makes every salubrious snack seem even more tempting. “Never trust a skinny cook” is the axiom I live by.

            The ubiquity of the Internet and the soaring popularity of social media have only made this situation worse. Even on such family friendly and trustworthy sites as Facebook, one can see such tawdry headlines as:

·         Ten Ways To Drive Him Wild (Rice) On Thanksgiving Day!

·         Your Man Will Cry After Tasting This Onion-Free Stuffing Recipe!

·         Breast Or Thigh? Why Not Both?

·         Change “No, Thanks” To “Yes, Please” With This Willpower-Destroying Apple Crisp!                 

·         Not His Mother’s Whipped Topping: Seven Secrets For Disguising Cool Whip

            And the list just goes on and on! After being constantly bombarded by all these subliminal – and some extremely liminal! – media messages, it’s no wonder the average guy finds it impossible to “just say no” when a sultry voice whispers to him, “Would you like seconds?”

            After stuffing ourselves silly on Thanksgiving Day, many of us will commence to lying on the couch or the Barcalounger or the garage floor (any horizontal surface will do) like a herd of beached seals. The difference is that seals, if threatened, will actually rise up and do their best to escape the perceived danger. In the immediate aftermath of our epic Thanksgiving feast, most of us are so comatose we wouldn’t move even if a great white shark were to walk into the living room and ask to see the menu.

            The original Pilgrims would never have brooked such nonsense. They spent the first Thanksgiving in the New World eating and playing games and generally whooping it up with their Native American friends. And no, this did not involve visiting a casino.

            What passes for games in modern times is the act of watching football games. This entails a certain element of danger if by “danger” you mean “it’s entirely possible that I could sprain my wrist while opening this bottle of beer.”

            But after all these centuries, the main reason for Thanksgiving remains the same: to gather with friends and family and to give thanks for all our blessings. And that goes double for these comfy new pants with their stretchy waistband.

             

A Murder Mystery

            It isn’t often that we are asked to witness a murder, so my wife and I felt impelled to accept the invitation.

            We were told to go to a supper club located in the tiny town of Lake Benton, Minnesota. As we entered the club, we instantly perceived that a huge mistake had been made.

            A reunion was being held for some high school we’d never heard of. Not wanting to admit that anything was amiss, we and the other attendees mingled and chatted. Questions about how things were going in each other’s lives were asked and the usual high school reunion-type answers were given. That is, the impression was created that everything is simply wonderful.

            One particular woman was wearing a very striking red dress. And by “striking” I mean “cut clear down to here.” Her nametag, which was difficult to read due to its close proximity to some cleavage, implied that she was Jennifer. Jennifer had a very hands-on personality.

            As Jennifer and I chatted, she touched my shoulder and my arm, overtly violating the invisible three-foot no-go zone we Midwesterners all carry around. When Jennifer departed to mingle with others, my wife fixed me with a look that would melt titanium.

            “What’s on that business card she gave you?” she asked.

            “Says here that Jennifer specializes in tantric massage.”

            “Your tantric doesn’t need any massaging!” said my wife.

            Fortunately, a moment later my wife’s and the entire room’s attention was diverted when a fracas broke out between two women. There was a flurry of pushing and yelling; loud, derogatory statements were made concerning each other’s morals and recent ancestry. The adversaries were quickly separated and restrained, so the catfight was stopped before it could really begin. I felt vaguely disappointed.

            We were about to be served our meals – I was looking forward to my sirloin – when one of the attendees stood up and began making a speech. He waxed nostalgic about the “good old days” in the high school that we’d never heard of, making special mention of Kathy, a world-famous movie star classmate whom we’d also never hear of. When Kathy rose to thank him, he impetuously grabbed her and planted a long and passionate kiss on her mouth. Lipstick was exchanged.

            Kathy responded by coughing and gagging and falling to the floor. Several people rushed to her aid, but moments later she was declared dead!

            Shortly after Kathy’s lifeless body was carried from the room, we tucked into our meals. That might sound cold, but it wasn’t like we could do anything for her. I thought about calling “dibs” on Kathy’s dessert, but decided that this might seem a bit too callous.

            The room buzzed with discussion regarding the cause of Kathy’s demise and who might have done it. We realized that some of the conversations we’d had with certain guests during social hour might have contained clues.

            I pointed out to our tablemates that some of the so-called ‘clues’ might actually be red herrings. 

            “Will you shut up about Jennifer?” said my wife.

            About the time that our cheesecake arrived, a police inspector named Sherbert Holmes strode into the room. He announced that no one could leave until he had questioned key suspects.

            His inquiries revealed that Kathy had numerous enemies in the room, many of whom might have wanted her dead. Even Kathy’s best friends agreed that she could use a little killing. Such is the life of a world-famous movie star!

            Holmes’s keen intellect soon ferreted out the truth and the guilty party was arrested and hauled away. We toasted this investigative success with a cup of after-dinner coffee.

            I chatted with Sirrina Martinez, the lady who was responsible for the evening’s adventure. Sirrina is the Event Coordinator with the Lake Benton Convention and Visitors Bureau. I asked her what had engendered the idea for a whodunit dinner theater.

            “When I was little, the TV show Golden Girls was big at our house,” she replied. “In one episode the girls attended a murder mystery dinner theater. Ever since then I have wanted to do an event like this.”

            Have you directed anything before?

            “No, this was my directorial debut. None of this would have been possible without our wonderful community volunteers. Funds raised tonight will go toward the Lake Benton Opera House. Our hope is that we can host more community events like this.”

            As we drove home, my wife and I discussed the evening’s happenings. How is it that we missed all those obvious clues?

            “They arrested the wrong person,” said my wife. “It should be a felony to wear a dress that’s that red!”                       

 

                                               

           

           

           

           

           

War Stories

            In 1943, at age seventeen, Dad joined the Navy. He spent the next couple of years aboard a battleship that routinely traded gunfire with the Imperial Japanese Navy and the Imperial Japanese Air Service.

            Dad served on the Washington, one of our nation’s premier battlewagons. As kids, my siblings and I would pester him into sharing a few of his war experiences but often found his stories hard to swallow. A ship with decks that were made of 16 inches of solid steel! Guns that could hurl one-ton projectiles 25 miles! Waves that towered as high as our windmill! Did he really expect us to believe any of that?

            Dad passed away 20 years ago, so the stories about his time aboard the Washington are lost forever. Or so I thought.

            Some random connections recently put me in touch with Al Colton, who was a friend of Dad’s and one of his shipmates. Al turned 90 in June. He and his wife, Loretta, have been married for 67 years.

            I asked Al about his time aboard the Washington.

            “I was in the Navy Reserve when Pearl Harbor happened and joined the regular Navy as soon as war was declared. I spent the entire duration of the war on the Washington. At first we were assigned to convoy protection in the North Atlantic, but then we were sent over to the Pacific.”

            How did you meet Dad?

            “When Leonard came aboard, he was this skinny little farm kid from out in the sticks. There were some older sailors who liked to pick on guys like him, so three other old salts and I took him under our wing. Leonard was a wonderful guy. The four of us became the best of friends.”

              Were the storms as bad as he described?

            “Nope, they were worse. Sometimes the waves would be so high, they would break over the bow of the ship and flood the deck with three or four feet of water. A guy could easily get washed overboard.”

            Dad had a souvenir bullet that was the size of a bratwurst. What could you tell me about that?

            “Your dad was a forward gunner in Battery Four. He operated a 20 mm automatic cannon, which was the smallest gun on the ship. I was Gunner’s Mate Third Class and was in charge of his battery. The 20 mm cannons were antiaircraft weapons that opened up whenever an enemy plane got to within a mile or so of the ship.”

            Was the Washington ever attacked by a kamikaze?

            “Not really. Our battleships were so well armored, the kamikazes pretty much left us alone. They went after our aircraft carriers and it was our job to protect the carriers.”

            Dad said he once saw a Japanese plane fly by so close, you could have hit him with a potato.

            “I remember that! The plane flew past just off our starboard beam and maybe ten feet above the water. As he went by, the pilot turned his head and looked at us and grinned so big you could count his teeth. Seconds later the plane got hit by a shell and turned into a fireball and tumbled into the sea.”

            What was it like when they touched off those humungous 16 inch guns?

            “We weren’t allowed to be topside when they did that, it was simply too dangerous. The muzzle blast was tremendous. It shook the whole ship.”

            What is your most memorable experience from your time on the Washington?

            “That would be the battle of Guadalcanal. Most of the battle took place at night, so we had to depend on our radar. Japanese naval forces had sunk a couple of our destroyers and damaged several other of our ships. We snuck around and got a bead on the Japanese battleship Kirishima and raked her with our big guns. The Kirishima went to the bottom a few hours later. They say the outcome of that battle changed the course of the entire war.”

            It must have been awfully scary with all that shooting going on.

            “I was too young to be fearful. I think that was true for a lot of us, including your dad.”

            What can you tell me about the anchor tattoo Dad had on his left forearm?

            “I had nothing to do with it! All four of us ended up with similar tattoos. Let’s just say that we liked to have fun when we got shore leave.”

            I deeply appreciated the opportunity to speak with Al. I thanked him for his service and for bringing history – and in a small way, my father – back to life.