First Published 2015
You would never guess it by the crap I eat now, but back in my child rearing days I was a pretty good cook
I loved to dice, chop, slice and sauté.
And most of what I cooked or baked I worked on from scratch.
But I did, after awhile start to have trouble at Thanksgiving and Christmas.
For those holidays I made turkey- never ham. My dad did a great ham and unless I could turn something out that tasted as half as good I didn’t bother.
Here’s when the trouble started.
When I went to work in the Funeral Home, you could not rattle my cage. I could do reconstructions or an embalming for hours at a time. After spending most of the day working with death and corpses I eventually would look up at the clock and when lunch time rolled around I’d finish up, grab a car and race down to one of the three nearby burger joints.
I could eat like a horse after doing that work.
But…yes the mighty BUT one Thanksgiving I was cleaning the turkey- I reached into the cavity and my stomach clenched up and I almost barfed all over the bird.
I pulled my hand out and took a breath.
I thought I was coming down with the flu- which figured I always got sick around the holidays.
After I got myself together I tried again and this time I did puke- I made it to the sink and I heaved so loud I think I ruined my kid’s and husband’s appetites for the rest of the holidays.
We got the bird cleaned and stuffed and I felt fine for the rest of the day.
That is until Christmas rolled around and the same thing happened- and over the years I got somebody else to clean out the bird and stuff it because the thought of putting my hand into that carcass turns my gut.
I could embalm, I could do reconstructions I could treat the dead no matter what condition they were in with care and dignity.
But to this day I cannot stand to put my hand in a turkey.
Something in me broke and I guess it’s going to stay that way.
Because I am
GOING TO STICK MY HAND IN A DEAD BIRD AGAIN.