PASS THE SWEET POTATOES!!

Ah, Thanksgiving.

A time to reflect on what is really important in our American way of life.Our family and friends, the Pilgrims, the struggle of our founding fathers and birth of the greatest nation on earth-- and the Turkey, the virtually nonflying bird that was invented solely for our national holiday.

More importantly, it is about the one thing that keeps me up at night...the feast--the bounty that nature and Kroger has provided for us with which tohelp us give adequate thanks.
For weeks prior to last Thursday I had kept my eyes and ears glued to theFood Network, watching everything I could find on Thanksgiving Dinner--I had, quite frankly, pelted Wifey Poo with a million and one questions about what she was going to cook, when she was going to cook it, and for how long,etc...
She said it was very reminiscent of my phone calls to her when I was in Iraq, when I asked about what she may or may not have been wearing....
Ahem.

After recovering from my Saturday a week ago traumatization at the Grocery store, I accompanied wifey to Kroger on Tuesday for official Thanksgiving Shopping...
Oh, Beloved, this was the proverbial cakewalk, as all I had to do was push the buggy and watch the goodies become contained therein-- Of course, no visit to theKroger would be complete without the occasional groin kick and verbal admonishment("How many times do I have to tell you to stay on the right sideof the aisle?!?")--which usually comes after the cereal aisle, when the endorphins are released from my brain after having seen some of my best friends- Toucan Sam, Cap'n Crunch, and Tony the Tiger.
It is during this euphoric state that I "occasionally" invoke some attention defecit and my buggy strays into the middle of the aisle or into the path of oncoming traffic, causing her royal highness much embarassment. This is then followed by heart rendering apologies to the other customer and a high and inside blow (mostly verbal) to what feels like my groinage. I usually say"I'm sorry, excuse me", and when the victims continue on their way I say"pardon me all to hell" under my breath.
That's a quote from The Shootist, a John (Hallowed be thy name ) Wayne movie. I bet The Duke never even went inside a grocery store, much less pushed a buggy and did battle with miscreant old ladies and mothers with their snotty nosed urchins running amuck.
Barbarians.
Anyway, back to my Wifey,who, bless her heart, may have been under a smidgen of duress, inasmuch as half of her family(three of the brothers had turns with their in laws) would be coming over to dine with us. The sum of people that would invade our little piece of paradise would be somewhere around 18, but no one really knows for sure because the entire crew are moving targets--if you count a couple neighbor kids and the dogs, well it goes even higher.

But, enough of the grocery store...suffice to say that I was PUMPED andRARING TO GO to unload all those bags of groceries when I got back home, even if it was black as pitch outside, even if there were no kids around to help, and even though I may quite possibly have herniated a testicle (teste if you prefer) in the process of carrying all those plastic bags from the car.

Afterwards, as I settled in my easy chair with the ice pack, my mouth salivated at the mere thought of what Wifey would be cooking in her newly remodeled kitchen in a mere 48 hours. ( Weighing that thought just now, I wonder whether it is the food being prepared or the sight of her knocking around in the kitchen that gets me excited...)
Alas, it is both.
You perhaps thought I was going to be chauvenistic, but no, dear hearts, that is not the case. The fact that she is toiling away in theKitchen like a galley slave only speaks to the love and devotion--the attention mind you, or great tenacity and detail given to her culinary art. In short, Wifey is a good cook and I more than encourage her to stay in the kitchen and work at it.

This Thanksgiving my attention was focused on one particular item. Normally it is the Cranberries (we discovered they actually are a berry, not just the stuff in the can) or the dressing , even the Turkey itself, that makes me hunch. This years obsession was the Sweet Potato--not that I'm not already a fan, but the Food Network had this whole big deal about em (Sweet Potatoes,Yams, etc) and it got me "peeing on car tires howling at the moon excited". The butter, the brown sugar, or the marshmallows, all of which you have to eat sitting down, became my food of choice for T'giving 08.

OnThanksgiving morning I arose early and got the coffee and newspaper all ready for Wifey-and even had the Macys Thanksgiving parade on the TV so she could watch those gay folks in those broadway shows dance around in next to nothing as if it were 90 degrees outside--ANYHOW, I reasoned that a little attention on my part in the morning would potentially pay off later--yes sir, I had to keep my gal happy and healthy for the next few hours...

After ensuring that her caffeine and nicotine levels were up to par, I unlocked the drawer containing the kitchen knives-- and informed her with the one statement that would surely give her the adrenaline rush she would need for the next umpteen hours:
"If you keep me full of all this good food I'm convinced I will be so full I won't be able to even attempt to have conjugal relations.
"Before you could say "coitus interruptus" she was rifling thru cabinet doors, banging pots and pans around, and making ready the stove, microwave, fridge, clearing off counters and barking out orders to take out the garbage, unload the dishwasher, and put the dogs out. She was a woman posessed.
As is the custom at our house, I always try to work my way into the kitchen at some point to inspect and check on things.
I stepped one foot into the kitchen when the cooking had started, only to have my groinage verbally abused with the promise of physical abuse- to include dismemberment- if I were to set foot in there for any reason- Of course, wifey didn't have to go into any of those details-she just gave me that look and said "GET THE HELL OUT OF MY KITCHEN". She had a knife in her hands there was little I could do.

As I went back downstairs to my mancave I muttered "pardon me all to hell"....Anyway, It's ok to peer into the kitchen-where I saw the dressing with sausage, onion, and whatever else goes in it, and I saw those wonderful sweet potatoes--I saw the turkey being basted with all those succulent juices collecting in the bottom of the roasting pan. I also saw the pineapple casserole, the greenbean casserole, complete with those little fried onions that makes one hunch....

The fact of the matter is that she shooed me away from her kitchen at least a half dozen times. On one occasion I feigned arthritic conditions and had to take some pain reliever-the pills and the water to chase them with would be located in thekitchen! Another time was to check and see if the trash needed taking out, and still another to help with the dishwasher-she always found me out though, and would proceed to shoo me away again.
She has been shooing me away ever since I met her 20 some odd years ago, and if not for my persistence I wouldn't have gotten married to her or been able to be underfoot in her kitchen--my strategy is quite simple--you just gotta wear em down and break their will to live.
Sue says I do that better than anyone she ever met. She should know.

At any rate, first guest of du jour was father in law-the man has never been late for anything in his life-if an event begins at 1500 you can bet your hat and your ass he will be out in your driveway an hour prior.
Unfortunately, his penchant for timeliness did not get handed down to his first born daughter.
It was comforting to have him at the house, because my mother in law never let him in the kitchen either. He felt my pain and we both peered into the kitchen like two hound dogs in a butcher shop window.
An hour or so later, and the smell in the house has me rabid. I eat an apple to control myself. It helps a great deal, but not as much as the diversion created when sis in law and her crew and then brother in law and his crew come walking up on the porch- Kids all over the place--a welcome distraction while Sue kicks in the afterburner and starts kicking some culinary butt in the kitchen-honestly all I can do at this point is provide comic relief in my never ending role as court jester.

In a little while the proverbial dinner bell is rung-the chow line is formed and everyone falls in and starts helping their plates. We pause after we all get seated at the dining room table-and the other lunchroom table for an additional 6 seats--and return thanks. Even the little kids hush while the blessing is asked. That's as quiet as the house has been since 0730 when I woke up and it won't be that quiet again until well after 900 pm-when Sues family--Our family--departs. How delicious was it?
I performed most of the cleanup afterwards, if that tells you anything. One of the benefits of cleaning up is you get to dip into the pans for another"taste" if you need it--seeing as how I had promised to not ask for any other"wifely services" on this evening, It would be the safe bet to make sure thatI was not only full, but so full that I harbored no thoughts of a'more. It was a WIN WIN situation..I have a full belly and Wifey gets to sleep thru the night.

Life is good. Thanksgiving was awesome.

Behold the power of Sweet Potatoes.