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Too Much Turkey And Not Enough Gravy (standard:humor, 902 words)
Author: GodspenmanAdded: Nov 22 2015Views/Reads: 771/452Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Like gravy, many things we overlook and consider insignificant God uses for His glory.

This time of the year, my thoughts drift back to memories of my maternal
grandmother. The Thanksgiving season brought all her special talents to 
the forefront. To me, my grandmother reigned as queen of the kitchen 
and functioned as the World's Greatest Cook. 

Thanksgiving brought all my relatives to my grandmother's house. My
grandfather lived there too, but with all the food on the table, nobody 

To be honest, my grandmother did not do everything. My grandfather made
a major contribution to the Thanksgiving preparation. In fact, he had 
the most important part — he stayed out of grandmother's kitchen. I 
have always appreciated that quality of my grandfather. 

As November made its debut, everyone in my family eagerly awaited
Thanksgiving Day. We talked of nothing else for weeks in advance. 
Someone might think all this excitement about Grandmother's 
Thanksgiving spread a little extreme. That is simply because they never 
had any of her “vittles.” One bite, or even one good whiff, could 
convince anyone that my grandmother's cooking ranked number one. 

There were times when circumstances severely challenged Grandmother's
patience, if not her sanity. But no matter what happened, she always 
came through with fried goodies. No matter what the crisis, somehow my 
grandmother had the perfect recipe. 

One year, contrary to her usual good sense, my grandmother allowed my
grandfather to watch the turkey while she went down the road for an 
important meeting at the church. As an active member of her church, 
Grandmother felt an obligation to do her part. “If everybody did their 
part,” she explained to me once, “everything would get done.” 

Although not completely comfortable leaving the important turkey under
Grandfather's watchful eye, Grandmother felt she had no other option. 

“Jim,” she said to my grandfather, “I want you to pay attention to every
word I say.” 

My grandfather was a great old man. I always enjoyed the many romps I
had with him. He seemed to know exactly what children liked to do. 
Despite Grandmother's warnings, he somehow managed to sneak in a little 
fun for his grandchildren. For example, there was the time he let all 
the grandchildren slide down grandmother's banister. 

But trusting my grandfather with something as important as the
Thanksgiving turkey was just asking too much. 

“Jim,” grandmother instructed, “all you have to do is make sure the
turkey doesn't go dry. Just baste the turkey every 15 minutes with this 
turkey baster and make sure it doesn't go dry,” my grandfather's life's 
partner explained. To make sure my grandfather understood the 
importance of her instructions, Grandmother added one last note. “If 
this turkey goes dry, your goose is cooked.” 

We all knew Grandmother was not joking. She never joked about her
cooking. Martha Stewart could learn a thing or two about culinary 
etiquette from my grandmother. 

To be brutally honest about the whole incident, it was not my
grandfather's fault that the meeting at the church lasted as long as it 
did. Everyone knows church committee meetings sometimes have a life of 
their own and can go on for days. 

During the first hour of his vigil, my grandfather did everything my
grandmother instructed him to do. However, it was cold outside and the 
old-fashioned wood stove in the room off the kitchen spread a warm 
blanket throughout the house, creating a drowsy ambience. Anyone in the 
same situation would have done the same thing my grandfather did. 

He fell asleep. 

Grandmother's Thanksgiving turkey not only went dry, it shriveled to a
dark black lump. 

The excited voice of my grandmother shrieking aroused my grandfather

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