A Thanksgiving Saga

Discussion in 'Cactus Cafe' started by BevoJoe, Dec 7, 2018 at 12:13 AM.

  1. BevoJoe

    BevoJoe 5,000+ Posts

    “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times…” I like that phrase, but it has very little to do with this here. Mrs. BevoJoe wanted to make the trek to her folks place for Thanksgiving. I wasn’t really interested until she said that the BIL (Brother-In-Law) had to work on Friday and couldn’t go along.

    “That’s really ashame. What’ll he do for Thanksgiving dinner?” I inquired barely able to contain my jubilation at the prospect of a BIL-less trip to south Texas.

    “He said he’s having dinner with Cooter, (whose actual real name is Cotton) and Narlene,” Mrs. BevoJoe informed me.

    “Great! But, let’s leave early. Noon on Wednesday at the latest.” I demanded.

    “That’ll be fine!” returned the wife.

    We actually loaded up and left at 11:15AM!! I couldn’t believe my good fortune. We made it to their place by 5. We had to stop a couple of times for BevoJoe II to go to the restroom, and to clean the car where my dog, Capone, barfed because BevoJoeII had been feeding him gummy bears and Big Red soda pop.

    Once we arrived the grandfolks "oooed" and "ahhhhed" over the boy some. Then we settled in to adult conversation. The FIL had some interesting topics such as how his proctoscopy turned out, that it really “burned like fire” when he took a leak because of some new medicine he was taking. The MIL told me about her lung infection and how her liver and gall bladder were acting up then listed all the folks in the local hospital as if I knew all of them personally, along with a detailed description of their ailments. FINALLY, the FIL offered me a beer. I sat down and took a big drink of the cold beer….”Ahhhhh, like blood to a vampire,” I thought to myself.

    Thanksgiving day, several other relatives of the wife came over and joined us. The ladies cooked and the men watched the parades and the first of two pro football games

    “You busy?” I looked up from the TV to see Mrs BevoJoe standing there.

    “About as busy as a pick pocket in a nudist colony! Why?” I asked.

    “Come help set the table.” I got up, grabbed the boy to help, and went to the dinning area to help with the table doings.

    The lunch was excellent, for once. Conversation was on more appetising topics except when the wife’s Uncle Bert told us the story of how on Thanksgiving day 1944 he “got his arm blowed off by a Naaazi hand grenade during the war.” He then reminded us that it was the big war, the one over in Europe.

    “My arm,” he continued, “landed on the General’s table! I run over and saluted and said, ‘Sir I'm sorry about my arm gettin' blowed off, bloody, still warm and wiggling, and landing on your table beside the turkey, Sir.’ I said to the General.

    He looked at me and said, ‘My God Son! You’ve lost an arm!’ I said, ‘Yessir! But there’s krauts that need killin’ and if I can have my arm back, I’ll beat them damn naazis to death with it…”

    Now, it was true uncle Bert lost an arm, but once he told me how he lost it when a “Jap officer pulled his sammy-rye sword and swung it at me…But with my remaining good arm, I took away his sword and cut his head off, then killed 83 Jap soldiers. General Douglas MacArthur shook my good hand, said he need a whole division like me and invited me to have supper with him in the White house.”

    I recall raising my eyebrows and looking at Mrs BevoJoe asked, “White house!?”

    There were several other stories, but my wife’s aunt Lorna once said that Bert had actually lost the arm when he fell under a train when he was a young’un. But, every time we see the fellow we humor him by listening to tales of glory how the arm was lost in battles ranging from the Pacific to North Africa, in WWI, WWII, Korea, Vietnam and so forth. What’s worse is he often gets battles in the wrong war, the combatants mixed up, and if he were in any of them he’d be a lot older than he actually was.

    After the lunch we watched the Dallas Cowboys, then the news. During the news I was in the den watching and the ladies were in the living room. The FIL, Uncle Bert and other old guys were asleep. As usual, the TV news folks wanted to make everyone who had a good lunch feel bad about it, so they showed remote locations of dinner at the missions. They told stories about how the homeless and unemployed in Texas could get a good hot Thanksgiving dinner with, turkey, dressing, ham, pumpkin pie and so on. The largest of the shelters in the state was at a location in downtown Dallas. The news feller told the reporter in Dallas to give his report. This guy in a sports coat came on and told about all the people behind him had been fed Thanksgiving dinner and were able to get in outta the cold nasty weather for a few hours, blah blah blah. Then I saw them!! Right behind reporter, mugging and grinning for the cameras were BIL and Cooter. BIL had a turkey leg which he held up and pointed to, and Cooter was eating a whole pumpkin pie!

    “Holy Mother of God!!” I shouted, “Mrs BevoJoe! MIL! FIL! Look at this!” I pointed to the TV screen. I was shocked at first, but then had to keep from laughing.

    BIL looked like reject scarecrow, holes in his overalls and shirt, floppy hat pulled down on his ears and straw sticking out…even smeared some dirt on his face. Cooter, dressed normal, but his normal is gawd-awful. They were smiling and waving. MIL had to sit down. FIL stood with his mouth hanging wide open. “Ain’t that a kick in the head?” I snickered.

    “Get my pills!” cried out MIL putting her hand to her heart.

    “Which ones?” asked my wife.

    “Any pills! Hurry!!” said the MIL.

    Knowing what I know, I saw MIL’s pill box on the table. It was empty when I opened it. I knew the pills she took were red, so, I grabbed some of BevoJoe II’s Skittles and put red ones in the box. I got a glass of water and handed it and the pills to MIL. She took them and instantly “felt better.”

    The phone began to ring with calls from other relatives around San Antonio. “Was that BIL on TV!?” were the first words outta their pie holes.

    “You bet your sweet, uh, yes, it was BIL” I would answer.

    FIL chugged a beer, MIL had to lay down, Mrs BevoJoe was stunned, Uncle Bert snored and slept through it all, BevoJoe II wanted to know if Uncle BIL had his own TV show, and me, I just had a good laugh.
     

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