Just this year. My mom was too out of her mind to make any turkey. She kept doing and saying things that made no sense. She ended up in the psych ward a few days later.
We had that tradition as well, while my mother was alive. This year, my BIL did the rolls, and they turned out beautifully.
When my wife was a child, one T-day was semi-ruined when, during dessert, a pressure cooker exploded. Gramma was pressure cooking the turkey carcass to feed to the dogs, and kablammo! Luckily, everyone was in the dining room eating pie. Turkey everywhere, ceiling covered in meat.
So, tomorrow?
A couple years ago, I got up to put the turkey in the oven. I figure it’s going to be in there quite a while, so I put the turkey in while the pre-heating is happening. Get myself some coffee and then come in and enjoy that while I mess around online for a while. About an hour later, I start to wonder why I’m not smelling yummy cooking turkey in the air. Upon investigation I discover that this is the day my oven decided to quit working altogether. I slam the oven door and walk back through the house announcing that Thanksgiving is cancelled.
It turned out ok though. After I calmed down I managed to put together a decent meal. I cut up the turkey and cooked it in the crockpot. Did all the other things with a toaster oven, stovetop and microwave.
On rereading this, it was unnecessary. My apologies.
Yes, it was Canadian Thanksgiving in my case. (in October.) My mom went into the hospital a few days after Canadian Thanksgiving in October.
Apology accepted, hrhomer.
Last year we were all excited to bring my brand new one month old son to my aunt and uncle’s for Thanksgiving. 8 o’clock that morning they call up to tell us that my uncle has a pretty bad virus and it might not be a great idea to bring the baby. We agree that it would be best to stay home and call my folks to let them know.
Not horrific enough? Ok. The virus my uncle had he caught nearly a month before. The main symptom was complete deafness in his left ear. He had been to the doctor twice since then. And they chose 8 o’clock Thanksgiving morning to call the brand new parents of a brand new child about it. They didn’t even tell the rest of the family, when we called my folks they knew nothing about it. Self-centered jerks.
Luckily we had some pork loin and bread dough in the fridge and my parents had whatever they were bringing to my aunt and uncle’s so between the four of us we cobbled together a nice little meal. Then we saw the Muppets and Wes slept through the whole thing. So, turned out well.
Well, it wasn’t horrific for us, but one year my older brother had Thanksgiving in his small apartment in another city along with his girlfriend (later, wife, then slightly later, ex-wife). Then there was a good ol’ giant Canadian snowstorm and we had to stay. I’m pretty sure they considered it a disaster! Having your parents/in-laws and annoying little sister on an extended stay! 
Oh, so many.
Apparently, I have Turkey Day issues and it is my favorite holiday besides Halloween.
- I was in the hospital with a difficult pregnancy. The hospital sent me a turkey day dinner just as my water broke, so the nurses told me I could not eat it.
Then I got transferred to L&D, where the hospital sent me a second turkey dinner which I could also not eat.
My friend brought me a third dinner (which the nurses actually lost or threw out- I went looking for it later to return her dishes) but it didn’t matter since I was still not allowed to eat.
And finally, my husband brought me a dinner from home, but he put it on top of the car and drove away, so it fell off. Which also didn’t matter since I was still unable to eat.
To cap the day, I delivered the baby at 23 weeks. He weighed a whopping 700 grams, or about one and a half pounds. He’s 15 now- health and happy.
- Because I was busy with the sickly runt of a baby, I agreed to let another family member host Turkey Day the following year. It’s usually my holiday to host and I love hosting it so hated to give it up. I call this one “The Year Of The Fucking Fancy French Buche Noel Cakes”.
Those cakes were a thing of beauty- a chocolate cake with chocolate mousse filling and a vanilla cake with almond mousse filling. I went all-out on those cakes! They were so awesome: beautiful chocolate bark, a sawed off branch, tree rings on the ends made of cocoa, snow and leaves and berries, right down to the meringue squirrels and mushrooms!
When I arrived at the dinner with the cakes, the hostess that year announced that she had decided it was too much trouble to cook turkey, so she had made some frozen Stouffer’s lasagna and garlic bread (right out of the foil package).
I stood there with those cakes and my face involuntarily turned hot and red while I thought to myself “It’s not about the food. It’s not about the food. It’s about the family”. But, the truth is, it IS somewhat about the food.
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The next year, a few days before T-Day, I became ill following a simple out-patient procedure and was admitted to the hospital for IV antibiotics. Because I did not get too far into the T-Day preparations and no one else could/would step in, the family met at a local cafeteria for dinner. I’m kinda glad I missed that one.
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Then the last nearly missed dinner was because I had to go to the emergency room… for a thrombosed hemorrhoid, of all things. I have never had butt trouble in my whole life. This happened so suddenly and was so painful I couldn’t believe it. This experience is why you will never hear me make a hemorrhoid joke. They are not funny.
So, here I was, in the ER early Thanksgiving morning, waiting my turn behind the old lady on oxygen, the baby, and the guy having a psychotic break and talking to his invisible friend. You can probably guess who is going to be seen last… the chick with a hemorrhoid.
My husband was managing the kitchen at home for me and called me to ask if he should call the family and cancel the dinner. “Absolutely not”, I hissed, because 1) I really, really wanted my danged holiday back and 2) I really, really didn’t want the whole family to know I was in the ER for butt trouble. Who even wants to hear the word “hemorrhoid” on Thanksgiving day? LOL!
The awesome Docs in the ER fixed me up- the cure is pretty simple- and I made it home to host the dinner with no one the wiser about the whole thing. Yay.
I’m glad to report I have now had several T-days without incident! Which is awesome as I love Thanksgiving!
My dad must have had a similar experience, because once when he was at my house he insisted I give him all my brand new chef’s knives to dull the tip. On a whetting stone, my dad is the kind of guy who either carries a whetting stone in his pocket, or more accurate he is the kind of guy who knows what can serve as a whetting stone in a pinch. I didn’t really see the point (heh) but hey, if it made him happy…so I handed him my knives. Because, who needs a sharp tip in a knife? I don’t want to stab anything, not even a burglar with my knives. I just use the cutting edge. So next time my dad has dinner here, I’m going to tell him this story Alessan, and thank him.
I’m so glad most kids shoes have velcro these days. Shoelaces are the bad old times.
This year actually. My brother decided to be nice and take over the job of turkey cooking so his wife didn’t have to get up early to do it. Well… he tried his best but… this is what he got. He swears he cooked it according to the instructions but man that bird was definitely done. It literally imploded on itself. It was quite funny actually and we always have ham as well so it didn’t ruin the meal.
Well, this thread brought back a memory: May, 2000. The Cerro Grande Fire destroys a good-sized portion of New Mexico, and the city of Los Alamos is evacuated. My parents opened their home to some friends of theirs who had nowhere else to go, so we had houseguests for about two weeks.
Now, fast-forward to Thanksgiving that same year. Heavy, heavy snowfall. And, POOF! Our power goes out. We lived at the dead end of a very rural road; when our power went out, it usually took a day or two to come back on. So, here we were with a house full of thawed food, and no way to cook it. An idea strikes, and we call those same friends we’d hosted during the fire. “Hey, would you mind having some refugees over?” We packed the turkey in snow to keep it fresh and hauled everything to Los Alamos. A good time was had by all.
My in-laws…They have a knack for bringing up inappropriate conversations at holiday dinners. Diseases, horrible accidents, the holocaust. This year was actually tame with only a mild discussion on how horrible hip surgery can be. It was almost disappointing.
This is one of the Thanksgivings we missed, but one year apparently my SO’s sister in law and her sister got in a huge screaming, fighting, yelling match, both sisters crying, half the family watching. the funny thing? The other half was singing karoke with a karoake machine (boy am I glad I wasn’t around) and didn’t even realize what was happening until later. It ended when the sister stormed out of the house, slamming the door, and the aunt doing karoake looked up and said WTF? We’re singing here! Stop that racket!
The think is, my wife used to cook professionally - she was a sous-chef at the Russian Tea Room - and has excellent knife skills and while she’s had her share of mishaps (burns, cuts, bruises from falling ice), the Thanksgiving Incident was by far the most serious cooking-related accident she ever had. My only conclusion is that it was some sort of Native American vengeance spirit deal, which is odd, because none of my wife’s ancestors ever lived in the United States.
Incidentally, the freakiest part of the whole thing was not the astonished panic of the actual incident, or the subsequent surgery and recovery - it was coming home later that day to pick up some clothing and finding our cat in the kitchen, calmly licking up her blood.
I almost killed my dog that way once. Lucky for him, he managed to sprint out of the way, but it was headed, point first, toward his big block head.
It missed completely, he licked it clean, we were all fine, no harm, no foul. No dogs were killed, maimed, or injured in the crafting of this post.
My first Thanksgiving dinner with my wife’s family. 18 or so people around the table, with several different conversations among small groups. At some point the conversation was about Raquel Welch, and my MIL mentioned that FIL certainly had a thing for her back in the day. As their conversation went on to something else, my BIL and I were still talking about RW. He mentioned that even at age 50 or so, she was still hot. I agreed, and just as everyone just happened to stop speaking, I said to my BIL “I’d poke her. She’s hot.”
Everyone stopped and looked at me, my wife hung her head, and no one said anything for several seconds. BIL #2 finally says “Glad you could make it today, Ducati!” That broke the tension, but my wife was still beside herself for hours, apologizing to mom, grandma, aunts and so on.
Good times.