Memories have a way of becoming a part of the very fabric of your family. With each passing year, the stories are told again, giving everyone a chance to relive them. My husband Dan and I still laugh about this one.
It was 1985 and I was 22 years old. I had made plans to spend Thanksgiving with my grandmother in Ohio. My boyfriend Dan was going to come with me so that he could meet her. It was a big deal because he and I were going to get married the following month and my grandmother had never met him. Since she couldn’t make the trip for the wedding, we decided to visit her instead.
We arrived in Ohio late at night on the Wednesday before Thanksgiving. We didn’t have money for a hotel so we planned on staying with my grandmother in her one-bedroom apartment. When you’re young, it’s not a problem to sleep on the couch, and that’s what we decided to do. My grandmother had a large, L-shaped couch. Dan chose the one end and I chose the other with our feet meeting at the corner of the “L”.
Grandma, always concerned about convention, was clearly bothered by our sleeping arrangements. “I don’t know about this. If anyone knew that I let the two of you sleep together, I’d never hear the end of it.” Yes, Grandma....allowing your granddaughter and her boyfriend to sleep on opposite ends of the L-shaped couch in the living room of your tiny one-bedroom apartment, right next to your own bedroom, constitutes “sleeping together” and will definitely cause people to talk about you.
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My grandmother was always outrageously frugal, as if she were still living in the Great Depression. She would save tinfoil, bread ties, plastic bags, and margarine (“oleo”) containers. Washing the used tinfoil, plastic bags, and her own hosiery was a daily job, and she always had an assortment of these drying in and around her sink.
When Dan and I woke up Thanksgiving morning, Grandma was in the sole bathroom in the apartment.
“I really have to pee,” Dan whispered.
“Yes, I know. Me too.”
We watched some TV, trying to take our minds off of our bladders. Fifteen minutes passed, then thirty, then an hour, and Grandma was still in the bathroom.
“How much longer can she possibly be in there?” The discomfort in Dan’s voice was obvious.
“I don’t know,” I whispered back, growing impatient with my own discomfort. “I hope she’s OK. She’s been in there forever!” I got up from the couch to check on her. I tip-toed to the bathroom and listened through the door. I could hear scrubbing. Oh, great. She’s scrubbing the tub while our bladders are threatening to explode.
“She’s scrubbing the tub,” I told Dan. “God knows how long until she’s done doing that.” My grandmother did everything at a snail’s pace.
Dan shifted uncomfortably on the couch. “I’ve really got to pee. I’m going to go in the kitchen sink.”
“You are not going to pee in my grandmother’s sink! That’s just gross!”
“I don’t care. I’ve got to pee and she’s been in there for three fucking hours. I’m using the sink.”
“Shhh! She’ll hear you!”
“I don’t give a damn if she hears me. She shouldn’t be in the bathroom for three fucking hours when she has guests.” He gets cranky when he has to pee.
He got up and went into the kitchen, leaving me to fume about him peeing in my grandmother’s sink. A minute later, though, he was back, not looking very relieved.
“I can’t use the sink. She’s got nylons and tinfoil draped all over it.”
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We learned that morning that Grandma had not yet gotten a turkey. Ignoring the obvious question of why didn’t she have a turkey already if she was having guests for Thanksgiving dinner, Dan and I offered to go to the store and buy one.
Looking for a turkey on Thanksgiving Day was a much bigger challenge than we expected, especially considering that we needed a fresh, unfrozen one. A frozen turkey would never thaw in time to cook. Dan waited in the car while I went into the grocery store. I made a bee-line to the back of the store toward the meat department. To my horror, there was not a single fresh turkey to be found. Not one.
Should I get a chicken? A roast? As I considered the options, my eyes were drawn to a freezer bin near the meat case. Inside it were smallish turkey-looking items. I picked one up. The size was perfect since there were only going to be the three of us for dinner. As I checked the package for the little pop-out timer thingy, I discovered that my perfect turkey was really a capon. A capon? What the hell is a capon? Oh well, it looked like a turkey and it wasn’t frozen. It would have to do.
I wanted to impress my grandmother with how well I could cook a turkey, so I immediately began preparing the bird once we got back to her apartment. There was no need to tell her about the capon. After all, it looked just like a turkey. Who would even know the difference? I cut open the wrapper, cleaned the inside of the bird, and seasoned it so that it was ready for my grandmother’s oven. I was proud of myself that I knew how to prepare a turkey. Surely Grandma would be impressed as well. I couldn’t wait for her to take the first bite.
My grandmother made several side dishes to accompany the “turkey”. I helped her finish the rest of the preparations while Dan set the table. Just as we were about to sit down to eat, there was a knock on the door. It was my Aunt Mary. Aunt Mary was known for showing up unannounced whenever a meal would likely be happening. She was a tough, independent woman; the bold, feisty yin to my grandmother’s quiet, passive yang. Aunt Mary believed that she knew everything there was to know about everything and no one dared to tell her otherwise.
All of us sat down at the table and took turns selecting our food. After taking the first bite of her “turkey”, my grandmother paused and said, “Hmmm.”
Uh-oh. Is that a good “hmmm” or a bad “hmmm”? Did I do something wrong in cooking it? Did she bite into the giblets bag?
“What’s wrong, Grandma?” I asked.
Grandma took another bite. “This tastes like a capon.”
A capon? How on earth could she possibly know that it tasted like a capon? I took a bite. I couldn’t tell any difference except that the meat was less dry than a turkey.
Before Dan or I could say anything, though, Aunt Mary jumped to our defense. “It’s not a capon. It’s a turkey.”
Grandma took another bite and chewed it slowly. “I don’t know. It tastes like a capon to me.”
Dan and I looked at each other. If we come clean with the fact that it is, indeed, a capon, we’ll embarrass Aunt Mary.
Aunt Mary took a bite. “This is a turkey, not a capon.” She looked at me and rolled her eyes as if to say your grandmother is losing it.
Grandma wasn’t about to let it go. After another bite, she was certain. “This is definitely a capon. This does not taste like turkey at all.”
Aunt Mary, unable to contain herself any longer, shrieked: “For crying out loud, Gertrude, it’s a turkey! What do you think, they’d buy a goddamnedcapon for Thanksgiving dinner?”
Right. Who would buy a capon for Thanksgiving dinner?
Thankfully, the identification of the bird wasn’t mentioned for the rest of the meal. We talked and laughed and shared an otherwise uneventful Thanksgiving with my grandmother and Aunt Mary.
The next day, as Dan and I were preparing to leave, Grandma thanked us for coming for Thanksgiving and for helping her cook the meal. I could tell that something was bothering her though..
“I don’t know,” she said, shaking her head. “I still swear that bird was a capon!” 
Comments
You could have fooled me. rated L for laughter.
After reading that now I gotta pee! I have no idea what a capon is, but I've gotta go find one now. Hilarious!
Sally - Yes, but does the gentleman also remove the tinfoil and pantyhose? Thanks for stopping by!
Michael - If I remember correctly, a capon is a castrated rooster (I'll have to double check that after I'm done here.) Now go pee, but don't do it on the tinfoil in the sink. :)
Glad you'll be part of the poster!!!
I've written a post about last Thanksgiving when our family hosted Sunni Muslim neighbors/friends, which you can check out at my blog if you're interested.
Paws up.
http://www.snapdrive.net/files/536335/BIRDY.MPG
I see it won't open for you.
I don't know how to post a live link here.
Too bad.
This is pertinently funny.
(winged)
Toni
David - I miss my grandmother, too. Writing this was great for bringing back the memories. I'm glad you enjoyed it, too.
gracielou - Thank you for your kind words! I know that you'll be an ultra-cool granny because you're ultra-cool now.
XJS AND ME - Thanks for the link. I'll be sure to give it a listen!
Jodi - Thanks for stopping by - I know you had your hands full today with paper turkeys and assorted fun. :)
Toni - Thank you! Who knew that peeing in odd places was so universal? Did everyone have a slow-as-molasses grandmother like I did?
From your description, I can just picture the whole scene.