> LIKE MAGIC > > Six years ago I was in the process of a challenging divorce, that > somehow insanely inspired me to believe that a Thanksgiving dinner with all > the trimmings was just what was needed to soothe my family's hurts. > I invited my children, my son-in-law, his parents, his sisters, their > respective dates and our family friend Michael. The final tally was nine. > Now, at the time, I had just moved into a one hundred and fifty > year-old farmhouse that not only needed cosmetic overhauling, but was, more > accurately, in desperate need of major reconstructive surgery. Between the > unpainted, plaster flaking walls and the water stained, cracked ceilings, > my home much more resembled a war zone than a comfort zone’ and that was > the good news. > The bad news was that, for most of my guests, this holiday gathering > would be their first glimpse of my new life and its surroundings. So, as > they say, the stage was set. > As my family and friends arrived, they graciously attempted to find > encouraging words for my new home, valiantly struggling to find just the > right adjectives. I totally sympathized with their plight. > While the afternoon dragged on, conversation continued to constrict as > the usual references to past family occasions or relatives were avoided in > light of the dissolution of my marriage. My wonderfully exquisite > Thanksgiving was quickly taking on painfully torturous proportions. So > much so, that when the turkey timer finally popped, one could feel the > collective sigh of relief whoosh through the house, as food offered the > single, non-offensive tradition, which everyone prayed we could relax and > enjoy. > As a thoughtful sharing of family traditions, my son-in-law's mother > had contributed a sweet potato casserole to our gourmet feast. The dish > was fully prepared, save for the last minute addition of marshmallows which > had to be broiled to a golden brown crust. I topped the casserole and > threw it in the oven. > Then, as the rest of my guests seated themselves around the dining > room table, my daughter Lisa, our friend Michael and I began plating our > Thanksgiving feast. It was just about then that the unthinkable dinner > nightmare happened -- the smoke alarm went off. > While I quickly jumped to silence the traitorous squealer, I > simultaneously witnessed a cloud of black smoke billowing out of my oven. > THE SWEET POTATO CASSEROLE!. My life was passing before my very eyes and > somehow it was looking a lot like charbroiled marshmallows. > I vainly attempted to muzzle the screaming alarm, but to no avail. It > simply continued to announce to my dinner guests that Christina "Julia > Childs" Abt was burning down her dilapidated home with some, or all parts, > of their holiday meal. My only consolation was that no one knew it was the > sacred sweet potatoes that were smoking -- yet! > As Lisa quickly began scrapping the charred marshmallows off the top > of her mother-in-law's casserole, Michael neatly propped open the outside > kitchen door to try and dissipate the black cloud of smoke, before it > enveloped the dining room. In the meantime, with my efforts to quiet the > smoke alarm proving fruitless, and with no other options left, I did what > any holiday crazed individual would do. I took aim, wound up, and chucked > the relentless siren past Michael's head, out the back door into a > snowbank. > Now, the look of disbelief on the faces of Lisa and Michael following > my action were so incredulous that I just had to laugh. Not small > chuckles, but a full rolling, gasping for breath, tears down the cheeks, > holding my sides, howl. Within seconds, they both joined in. > Like magic, the tension of the day evaporated into the black > marshmallow smoke cloud and flew out the door. We then put fresh toppings > on the casserole, watchfully browned the top, and then all gave thanks for > the chance to be together as a family, for better or for worse. > Despite that memorable disaster, my family continues to willingly > gather at my home when Turkey Day rolls around. The house still has water > stained ceilings and cracks in the walls, but it also offers a sense of > warmth and welcome that my family has come to enjoy. > And in true lemonade from lemon fashion, I rescued the tell-tale alarm > from the snowbank and reinstalled it in a place of honor in my kitchen. > The kids say it just wouldn't be a holiday dinner at mom's if the smoke > alarm didn't go off. And you know what... they're absolutely right! > Martha Stewart eat your heart out! > > «:*´`³¤³´`*:»§«^i^MISSI ^i^«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§« Richiele Marie [email protected] (Missi) I disbelieved in reincarnation in my last life, too. »§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§«