My mom and I were driving on Route 9 and the discussion turned to our plans for this year's Thanksgiving dinner. She confided that she wasn't sure how she was going to prepare this Thanksgiving feast. The thought of my little cousins running around on our new white carpet nearly made her sick. I reassured her that whatever happened, nothing could be as bad as last year's Thanksgiving dinner. Nothing.

In my family we tend to rotate houses for holiday gatherings. Last year it was my paternal grandparents' turn. The three and a half hour drive (two and a half when Dad drives) was bearable. When we finally made it to my grandparents' house, they greeted us with outstretched arms.

They brought us up to the living room to wait for the rest of my relatives and the food. My older brother and I were grilled about our lives and extra curricular activities. Somewhere during the conversation the buzzer went off for the turkey. Actually, it was really the fire alarm, telling us in its own little way that the turkey was done. While my grandma was trying to put out the turkey, my dad was busy trying to figure out how to shut off the alarm.

In the midst of all the confusion, my dad's brother's family arrived. My dad always has had something against my uncle's new wife. Could it be my new aunt's tattoo that turned off my traditional dad? Their only child was pretty spoiled, and sometimes even I couldn't stand him. My uncle gave us a hearty welcome, and soon the little one was playing along the banister being careful not to get his head stuck in between the openings.

My uncle and my dad have a long history of not getting along. Before a long and heated argument could take place, we were seated for our feast. My grandma took requests for beverages, and soon she came back with a tray filled with coffee, tea, and milk. My uncle took one sip of his coffee and spat it out. "What the heck was the expiration date? 1972?" he commented sourly. My grandma has been known to freeze anything that is at all edible, so I wasn't surprised. I looked down and saw ice chunks floating in my own milk, and suddenly I started to lose my appetite.

My grandma's cooking usually included mixes or canned goods. The fire-extinguished turkey pretty much proved my point. As the dinner progressed, the condiments were nearly gone in order to make the turkey the least bit palatable. Occasionally, I found a piece of tinfoil in my turkey but none big enough to choke on. Toward the end of the meal, my little cousin was getting impatient with the long, tiresome meal. He tried to get out of his highchair, but in the process managed to knock over a full glass of cranberry juice. My dad, being the lucky one to sit across from him, was the victim of this accident. His new silk tie seemed to absorb most of the spill.

That was about the time where I could safely say all Hell broke loose. My dad was yelling at my uncle to control his son. My little cousin started crying. Insults started flying about everything. In the end at least one of my relatives was crying, angry, or hurt. Of course by the end of our stay, everyone had apologized and left relatively happy.

As I quickly reminded my mom of last year's disaster, she agreed with me that nothing could be as memorable as last year's Thanksgiving. Nothing. n