Tofurkey, Anyone?

Hey everyone! Lets give a warm welcome to the Sassy Mama Lola from Sassy Mama Says...This chick is one of my first readers and a top notch blogger. I give her crap because she is a liberal, she gives it right back to me for being a conservative. It is all fun and games between friends and we can agree to disagree. Isn't that what this world is all about anyway? Having differences and learning to appreciate them and get past them to form friendships? I think that is what is great about this country. Ok off my soapbox! Everyone show Lola some love.

It's that time of year again, and the Great Turkey Debate is in full
swing. My mother volunteered to do Thanksgiving this year, since
we're going to Florida right before the holiday, and I REALLY wanted
to take her up on her generous offer, but...

It will be stressful for me to do it, but I have to. I'm not about to
let my 73-year old mother take on the huge task of cooking and baking
for 12 people. It's way too much work, and she's paid her
Thanksgiving dues already. My sister and brother don't seem to mind
who does it, as long as it's not them, so it will be my job once
again. The aforementioned brother and sister also refuse to go out
for Thanksgiving dinner again, which my mother and I have both
suggested, and they can't seem to contribute anything other than
store-bought pies. I'm not bitter; I'm just used to it.

This has been going on for years, and I end up doing it, along with
every other holiday and special occasion. Since I love to cook and
throw parties, I actually enjoy being the hostess; that is, except for
Thanksgiving day. It used to be one of my favorite days of the year
when I lived at home. I loved to help my mother peel the squash and
apples for the pies and set the table and spend the day with family.
Once we moved into our house, I couldn't wait to host our first turkey
day. I was so excited. I did all the shopping, had the table set and
all the fixins ready to go. I just had to get the turkey in the
oven.

This is when I discovered my hatred of turkey or at least uncooked
turkey. I love me some fully-cooked turkey as long as someone else is
doing the cooking, but that Thanksgiving day when I was pulling the
fresh turkey's internal organs out of its butt, touching the bumps
where the feathers once were and seeing a couple stragglers that they
didn't pluck while I washed its slimy, whitish-pink skin, I was
gagging. I had no idea what my mother had endured all those years. I
was so disgusted that I screamed for my husband to finish the job.

Being such a great guy, he finished cleaning it and got it in the pan
and then the oven. I thought I was safe, but the smell of the flesh
cooking made me sick all day long. When that baby came out of the
oven all brown and pretty, just the way I like it, I couldn't eat a
bite. Since that Thursday in 1994, almost every turkey day has made
me ill. I can't eat it if I clean it or smell it cooking. We went
out to eat one year, deep fried one outside another year, had my
mother cook it at her house, but it was not close to done when she
brought it down. Nothing seems to make it easier.

So, this year, I'm going to change it up. It might be an Italian
Thanksgiving or we might have chicken breasts on the grill or maybe
even tofurkey. I'd rather enjoy the day with my family than stress
over cooking a 20-pound bird and keeping everything else warm. It's
time for some new traditions for this family, and I've just got to
decide what they will be. If my siblings don't like it, they can do
it next year.

I hope you all have a wonderful Thanksgiving, especially you and
yours, Kat! Good luck across the pond, my friend.