Forget 'great' ... it's a time for reasonable expectations

                        
Not 20 minutes after I'd blown a light bulb turning on a kitchen lamp, my wife experienced the same thing in the study. And you know what they say about bad luck running in threes. So I should probably be writing this by candlelight; however, I'm trusting the fates to grant me enough light to compose what I hope will be the definitive column on holiday expectations. It seems to prudent to keep them on the low side. December is just another in a string of dates on the calendar, no more abundantly promising than the others with 30 days which, I'm sure you'll remember from that childhood rhyme as being April, June and November. Now the latter, of course, is home to Thanksgiving, which wasn't even a holiday in the traditional sense until 1941, when FDR fixed it as the last Thursday in the 11th month. Before then it must have been aimless, leisurely and non-threatening, kind of like a shooting star ... or giblets floating in a gravy boat. And even though it's now anchored, there remains an air of relaxation about Thanksgiving and I suppose that's what makes it such a popular holiday. Even with Christmas pushing its way into prime time, Turkey Day eases its way into consciousness and just as quietly slips away. Perhaps it's all that tryptophan. So, how was yours? Faithful readers have sent along stories of their Thanksgiving Days for many years and they always make me smile, even when they involve a frozen bird baked at 325 degrees for six hours. Not a recipe for success. But with every misstep comes a lesson and that's the point. Several years ago, for example, I nearly burned down this house and it had nothing to do with the actual meal, which we prepared for my brother and his family. We'd only been in Carolina for a year or two and it seemed that we had a lot of company as we settled in to this place. As such, we grew accustomed to giving family and friends the grand tour, not only of the house and the downtown, but of the part of the nation in which we settled. It was just in keeping with the idea of lowering expectations: We don't actually live on the ocean ... we're a good 35 to 40 miles away and that's an important distinction. We see more cardinals and blue jays than we do seagulls or pelicans. Anyway, to get back to the story of that Thanksgiving, we'd shared the meal, relished the company and embraced the notion of washing dishes with a fine sense of togetherness. And, as it was a warmish evening -- must have been around 65 or so -- we set out for a leisurely walk up to the marina to work off some of those calories. Before we left the house, I placed the wishbone in a pan of water with the heat set on simmer. I always try to keep them as part of a lineage, a way to mark special occasions. I even print the dates on them and have them arranged in the kitchen. Silly, I suppose, but I'm a sentimentalist at heart and visits from those closest to us make the distance between here and home disappear, if only for a day or two. But I'd done a stupid thing that evening. I'd set the burner to its highest setting and, after we'd ambled back from our waterfront destination, my niece opened the front door and said, "Uncle Mike ... the hallway's full of smoke." Fortunately, I didn't destroy the house with my carelessness but I did learn not to leave a boiling pan of water untended for more than a few minutes. This year, after I'd tucked in my wife and praised her mashed potatoes and gravy once more, I set about the task of returning the kitchen to some sense of normalcy ... and it was fine. Thanksgiving, late at night, offers a rare chance to reflect on what's important and I don't mean whether or not I'd put too much salt in the oyster stuffing. I did, though my wife was kind enough not to mention it. As I washed and rinsed plates, silverware, glasses, pans, serving utensils and the turkey platter that's been in the family since the Sixties, I listened to Arlo Guthrie tell the story of Alice's Restaurant once again. And, when it came time to boil down the wishbone, I made sure that the setting I chose was low. Very low. Over the next few days, I'll store away all of our fall decorations with a sort of resigned reluctance. Glowing pumpkins and centerpiece turkeys -- not to mention witches and haunted houses still on display -- represent the calm before the next holiday storm. It only takes an hour or so to pack them away. But we all know what's coming. Two burned-out bulbs will be nothing -- nothing, I tell you -- compared to thousands of lights that will -- or won't -- work when I plug them in a few days from now. But, keeping expectations subterranean, I promise to smile and keep the reason for the season in mind. Mike Dewey can be emailed at CarolinamikeD@aol.com or snail-mailed at 6211 Cardinal Drive, New Bern, NC 28560.


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