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Are you ready for Thanksgiving?

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three turkeys. 1 baked. One fried. one smoked. This is a lot of turkey. But I have help. My stepbrothers Jay and Janice fry in our driveway. My other brother-in-law, Alan, smokes another turkey at his house. And his wife is Sanbanbo.

Did you notice the sleight of hand? “Please help me…” I said, but I didn’t have any three turkeys. My role is for him to buy two.OK, I won’t do that either. my wife does. However, I lifted the bird upon request and transferred the bird from the supermarket case to the cart.

And I will chop up the hack work that is welcomed in luxury even though I am an amateur. If you don’t get anything else out of this column, drop the idea that this Thanksgiving is going to be especially kind to those who have done something wrong. Kindness. especially children. Moments like that last. I know a parent who yelled at their child for spilling soda on Thanksgiving, and that yelling reverberates over the years. As lawyers say, don’t ring the bell. Keep paper towels handy.

stuff spills. It doesn’t work. The bad things are just as much a part of Thanksgiving as the good things. There are probably more. A ritual to get out of the terrifying moments and disasters of Thanksgiving. One year my grandma Sarah didn’t pan fry the celery before putting it in the stuffing. As a kid, I hated it. Her crunchiness seemed the exact opposite of her stuffed soft comfort, something I reminded her of every year for the rest of her life. Don’t let the celery get crispy. ’ Poking a sizzling celery with a wooden spoon reminds me of nothing but the old feast. I’m sorry, Grandma. Children can be cruel.

23 people and 3 turkeys. Not as many as years ago when we were able to provide three dozen. I have generally kept their lives under wraps. They are now professional adults and do not want their private actions recorded in the newspaper. I don’t think I’m spilling the beans to say they’re both separated and kicking the fatigue of their girlfriend’s family. I covered my mouth with my hand to avoid giving advice on that front. I’m secretly worried, but I’m afraid these visits won’t go well. They’ll love what they see, we’ll never get them back. If it’s not exactly cherished, remember it lovingly. Or at least remember. I hope. That’s the secret to being a parent. Wind up the propellers, fly, hold your breath, scan the sky and wait for it to come back. It’s like being in a freight cult. Maybe next year. maybe not.

My side of the family, the star-crossed blood kinship, will be absent altogether. Cancer keeps my sister in Dallas. My parents have moved to Buffalo Grove now, but were they only from Colorado last year for Thanksgiving? When we showed them the nurses… …Oops , the dynamic senior lifestyle community they live in now? My mother can’t come because she can’t climb the stairs in front of us, and my father… well, pull that veil. My brothers, generous souls are spending Thanksgiving with them. Maybe next year everyone will be here. maybe not.

That’s the Thanksgiving challenge, right? It’s not just for putting three turkeys on the table. But somehow enjoy the moment, savor the people at the table, and don’t miss out too much on the people who aren’t. If you don’t want to forget them, raise a glass and name them. But the point of Thanksgiving is to be in the moment. I try to feel the thunder roar past me, because you never know who won’t be here next year. Maybe you. Maybe me.


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Written by Natalia Chi

Chicago Popular; Chicago breaking news, weather and live video. Covering local politics, health, traffic and sports for Chicago, the suburbs and northwest Indiana.

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