Family and food
We asked readers to share their favorite Thanksgiving memories and stories with us this year. Here are some of the responses. Enjoy!
The Deviled Egg Massacre of 2001
Thanksgiving with the Larsen family seems to follow the same pattern. Every year you can find the women in the kitchen fixing food and socializing while the men sit in the living room watching football. Ah, tradition! However, there is one pastime that has continued – despite the women’s despair – ever since I can remember: the battle over deviled eggs.
Now I don’t know if it is because the Larsen women make the best darned deviled eggs in these parts, or if the Larsen men are genetically predisposed to turn into scavengers whenever they smell a mix of egg yolk, vinegar and paprika.
Traditionally the Larsen men would try to sneak an egg here or there or occasionally be granted one for good behavior. It has always been a gender battle of sorts. All I know is that this longtime battle came to a head in the Larsens’ Deviled Egg Massacre of 2001.
Picture the women preparing four dozen deviled eggs in a conveyor belt sort of way while a roar of football and cheers came from the living room. See the men, huddled in their recliners, drawing attack patterns on their napkins and sharing them with the group. The living room quiets while the great minds are thinking and the childish giggles are muffled. Little did the women know of the plotting that was going on just a room away. It was the calm before the storm.
Suddenly, a decoy burst in the kitchen on his hands and knees after apparently injuring his back. (In a wise move, the decoy had dabbed water under his eyes for effect.) The women dropped their eggs and rushed by his side offering anything that might help to ease his pain.
At that very moment the rest of the men rushed in the other side of the kitchen and ran for the eggs. They clawed and grabbed at their prize, fitting as many in their mouth as possible, not caring about the smeared yolk all over their faces. I witnessed the phony decoy lunge for the bowl of yolk and grab entire handfuls. When the dozens of eggs fell to the floor, the dog rushed in and finished the job.
When it was all through, only a dozen eggs were left. Horrified and astonished, the Larsen women surveyed the damage and threatened to go on a permanent “egg strike.” The men, pathetically satisfied, retreated back to their lair.
The massacre remains a legend in my family, and all newcomers are told of the egg peril. From that year on, the women in the Larsen family remain hypervigilant, with their ears open for whispers of hidden plots. And you can bet that one thing is for sure: The doors to the kitchen are heavily guarded.
Leslie Larsen
Spokane Valley
The great turkey escape
It was the week of Thanksgiving 1952. I was 18 years old. My mother had given the task of buying the Thanksgiving turkey to my dad. Dad decided a live turkey would be tastier.
Upon his return, Dad stopped in the back yard to secure the live gobbler to the clothesline with a tether before he proceeded into the house.
In the meantime, my cocker spaniel, Spunky, decided the bird would be a great playmate so he gave chase to our dinner. The turkey, in his terror, slipped out of the tether.
The rest of the afternoon – with the help from neighbors, friends and family – we chased Thanksgiving dinner around the neighborhood. That gave real meaning to the song “over the river and through the woods to grandmother’s house we go.”
Eventually they were successful in capturing our two-footed feathered escapee, who met his fate and became our most memorable Thanksgiving dinner.
Barbara Decker
Spokane Valley
A Venezuelan holiday
Editor’s note: The writer of this essay lives in Venezuela with her husband and three children, but was born and raised on Spokane’s South Hill, where her parents and siblings still reside. She heard about our request for Thanksgiving stories while reading The Spokesman-Review online edition. She added this note with her story: “This is such an important holiday for me, as it is my turn to share something with my family and friends that is exclusively celebrated in the U.S.”
Nineteen years ago I moved to Venezuela, taking my American traditions with me. Since then, Thanksgiving has become one of my husband and his family’s and my favorite American holidays.
It is a challenge every year putting the dinner together, because although I can get turkey here (it is very expensive), there is no canned pumpkin for the pie, no cranberry sauce, etc. But I always find a way to get all the traditional dishes on the table.
I think it is important that my children celebrate one of our greatest, most important holidays, and are reminded every year of their heritage as Americans. My Venezuelan family has come to cherish this meal, and now it is tradition for them as well. My father in-law says, without fail, every year, “This was your best Thanksgiving yet!”
Hopefully I will be able to keep this wonderful holiday alive for many years to come and share this special day with all those who gather around my table.
Happy Thanksgiving to all!
Jennifer Piani
Venezuela
Watch for falling turkeys
During the Depression my parents and I lived in an apartment above the neighborhood grocery store my parents owned on North Hill in Spokane.
One Thanksgiving my mother roasted the turkey and placed it in a portable roaster to be taken to my grandparents’ home a few miles away.
It was a snowy, wintry day that year, so my father suggested that my mother and I should go down the inside stairs and meet him at the garage and he would carry the turkey down the outside steps (22 of them), which were covered with snow and ice. He assured my mother he would be careful.
Just as my mother and I started out we heard a rumbling sound and bump, bump, bump and we knew what had happened. My mother rushed out on the top landing and called to my father, sprawled in a big snowdrift with dressing (resembling brain tissue) on his face and head.
“Oh, Clifford, are you all right?” she called.
He shouted back “Yes, I’m fine,” and then plaintively, “But look at the turkey!”
The poor bird was also in a snowdrift, minus the pan and covering and most of its dressing.
Being Depression time, needless to say they rescued the poor bird, cleaned him up at my grandparents’ home, popped him in the oven to heat up and then a little later than usual we enjoyed a delicious and most memorable Thanksgiving dinner.
Janet Shaffer
SpokaneValley
Thanksgiving lasts a lifetime
My most memorable Thanksgiving occurred on the eve of Thanksgiving in 1953. The prior Wednesday I had been introduced to a girl by a mutual friend who set us up on a double date with her and her boyfriend. Her town was about 20 miles from the town where I lived.
We went to a double feature movie after which I took the other couple to their parents’ homes. Keep in mind that I was in my first year of college and the other three were in high school. Since my date’s family was staying with relatives in my town to celebrate Thanksgiving, I was able to spend more time with her and dropped her off last.
While that date was successful, the following years have been wonderful and this spring we celebrated our 50th wedding anniversary.
Who knew what further memories that one (Thanksgiving) date would lead to?
Dick Solberg
Spokane Valley
Turkey never smelled so good
At our November 1960 family government meeting, Daddy proposed, and we approved, giving our Thanksgiving dinner to the House of Charity, and eating hotdogs instead.
The Tuesday before Thanksgiving we walked to the Millwood Meat Market to get the turkey, Mama pulling my baby sister in the Radio Flyer wagon. I remember my brother Michael sobbing all the way home, because the turkey turned out not to be alive. That evening, we baked two pumpkin pies from scratch. We felt pride as we gazed at our creations, but also pangs of regret, because they smelled so good.
Thanksgiving Day was cold, but we tried to play outside because the aroma of roasting turkey filled the house. We knew we couldn’t have any, but we’d peek in the oven door anyway. Still, we felt happy as we peeled potatoes, stuffed celery and whipped cream for the pies. Finally, we got dressed in our church clothes and filled the ‘49 Studebaker with the most delicious Thanksgiving dinner ever smelled.
The sun cast golden rays through the azure twilight as we made our merry way down Trent Avenue. I remember how bright the lights were in the House of Charity as we proudly carried in our feast. As we drove home we sang, “She’ll Be Comin’ Round the Mountain,” and “Frankie and Johnnie.”
Our hot dogs that evening tasted like manna from heaven. We played games around the old oak table and laughed at the irony when Colonel Mustard got caught in the dining room with the knife.
Our parents taught us many valuable lessons, such as “Never jeopardize a person’s livelihood,” “It is important to cry at your own funeral,” “Two plus two does not necessarily equal four,” and our Thanksgiving lesson, “The only gift worth giving is the one you want to keep.”
Margaret Koivula
Spokane
Turkey in Middle America
It was late Thanksgiving Day 1983 and we had been on the road for two days because I was being transferred by the Navy from California to my new duty station in Washington, D.C. It was dark and cold as my wife, son and I stopped for dinner somewhere in the middle of America – we don’t remember where. Save for the cook and aging waitress, we were the only people in the place. Of course, all three of us ordered the turkey dinner.
My wife groaned when it arrived. It was pressed turkey and mashed potatoes out of a box. She wanted real turkey and all the fixings just like her mother would make. That was not to be. She ordered something else while my son and I gobbled up our dinners, as well as hers. After all, it was just like Navy chow and the school cafeteria food my son and I were used to.
Every Thanksgiving since then, the three of us joke about that night when we were so closely tied together as a family and all alone some place in America trying our best to make a nice holiday memory. And we succeeded.
Fred White
Newman Lake
Ah, the power of cheese
My wonderful mother, who has always made the most tremendous holiday meals, has slowed down some due to multiple sclerosis. So her daughters pitched in last Thanksgiving to help make it as effortless for Mom as we could.
Being the oldest, I’m known for my take-charge attitude; some interpret it as bossy. I thought this Thanksgiving the food was not timed well. The turkey was already out of the oven, but the broccoli with cheese hadn’t even been started. I steamed the broccoli and the cheese was a simple jarred variety that only required being microwaved, I thought.
I could get back on schedule if I removed the lid and tossed it in the microwave for a quick couple of minutes. WRONG!
Within a minute there was a loud KABOOM coming from the microwave.
When I opened the door, I found the entire jar had exploded, and Mom’s microwave was covered completely in cheese sauce. I quickly shut the microwave door to avoid becoming the brunt of a great deal of laughter.
I was not fast enough, my sister opened the microwave door, grabbed her camera, taking pictures of my disaster. My darling mother simply said “You left it in the jar didn’t you?” I felt 12 years old again.
By now my sister and the rest of the family were rolling in laughter. Despite my culinary error it did turn out to be a great Thanksgiving of fun and tons of laughter. We’ll never forget our Thanksgiving with the exploding cheese.
Good times.
Neoma Taylor
Spokane
A tradition moves away
Our family Thanksgiving took an unusual turn many years ago. Several members of our family were employed in the airline industry, working weekends and holidays, which are very high travel days. They regularly missed out on the most cherished family traditions – especially since so many family members lived out of town and got together only once or twice a year.
My sister-in-law, Linda, decided to have the family’s Thanksgiving the weekend before the traditional holiday, inviting friends from church, other family and several of their children’s friends. She provided the turkey, fine china and elaborate holiday decorations in her tiny house, converting the living room to an elegant dining room. We all brought our “signature” potluck dishes. This was repeated year after year until it became a bigger draw than the original Thanksgiving Day.
Our children loved having “two” Thanksgivings and visiting with all the cousins. They loved the formality of nice dinnerware, decorations and long meals. And the adults loved this moment of holiday elegance in our busy lives, freeing us up to retain or build our own holiday traditions. We watched movies, announced engagements, divorces and babies and shared those life changes and challenges that affect us all.
Our kids grew up. Many of us are divorced and no longer “part of the family,” or moved out of state, yet still go to Aunt Linda’s Thanksgiving. This day has become our holiday season kickoff, and no season was complete without Linda’s Thanksgiving.
This year is the last year, as Aunt Linda announced they are moving to Texas. It will be a special year, though I wouldn’t be surprised if we all pack up next year to go see the family there. It wouldn’t be the same here, and besides … she did all the work! All we had to do was show up and bask in the love of family, tradition and an extended holiday season.
Rebecca Steffensrud
Spokane
Duck for Thanksgiving
My most memorable, in a sense, and most unique Thanksgiving occurred in the 1990s in Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia, where I was performing an anti-dumping verification for the U.S. Department of Commerce. We finished the verification on Thanksgiving Day – obviously not a holiday in Malaysia – and the company officials decided we should celebrate the end of the verification and Thanksgiving for me and the American lawyer participating in the verification.
We went to a Chinese restaurant in the city and had a feast that featured Peking duck. I do not know if they have turkeys in Malaysia. It was a nice meal but could not compare with a good American Thanksgiving turkey dinner.
Mike McKinnon
Spokane
Don’t forget to give thanks
It was Thanksgiving about three years ago when my entire family came together for the first time in some six years.
Now, when we have Thanksgiving, boy, do we make it one that our stomachs won’t be too thankful about afterward. We had about three turkeys, four plates of about every little dinner appetizer that you have at a normal Thanksgiving, and sparkling apple cider that could make you squint before the drink touches your lips.
But it’s not all this food that makes this Thanksgiving special. It’s the fact that we nearly ate all of our meal before noticing we had not given our thanks! When the whole point of the dinner is about giving thanks, we had almost finished the meal, giving thanks only to the chef! So with our bellies half full, we blessed our food that we had left on our plates and gave thanks for the food inside of us. That one moment would leave me with a laugh for the rest of my life and hopefully give one to all those who have shared a similar situation.
Happy Thanksgiving!
Josh Johnston
Spokane Valley
First, there’s Thanksgiving
We measure the passing of time in many ways. On the last day of school we agonized over each tick of the clock before the final bell released us into the timeless days of summer, which were measured in sunburns, vacation trips and mosquito bites.
We measure work in hours and leisure in weekends, and we measure the severity of the coming winter with a complicated formula involving the quality of the sunset and the first traces of snow on Mica Peak. With the arrival of Halloween, we measure our time in warp speed as the headlong rush toward Christmas begins. But first there’s Thanksgiving.
I like Thanksgiving best. I think of Thanksgiving not as a holiday but as a treasured anniversary – a day for noting all the complex give and take, shared joys and sorrows, headaches and heartaches of our life’s journey. We measure our mortality in the march of birthdays, but we measure our lives in anniversaries, celebrations of shared experiences with family and friends, with joy and gratitude for what has been, and the promise of a future still unexplored. Seasons pass, people are born and die, they marry, divorce, or move away.
The cosmos swirls around us, and we cling to those things most precious to us. The calendar clicks onward, and we realize that despite the ups and downs, what we have is valuable and worthy of celebration. Giovanni Angelico, a 15th-century monk and artist wrote, “The world’s gloom is but a shadow. Beyond it, yet within our reach, lies joy. Take joy.”
Marge Huntington
Spokane Valley