This Year An Angel Saved Thanksgiving

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NEWS

    Two of my short stories have been published in a fun Christmas anthology that will be released tomorrow!  Please check out the book "Christmas Lites" (on Amazon) if you have time on Black Friday. 
    Here's the beginning of one of the stories I wrote: 

    I’m a turkey and yes, I hate Thanksgiving. Why do 

people always ask me about the holidays? I hate them—

shocking, I know. Maybe you think I’m just stupid, or 

being an ungrateful, ornery cluck, but you’re wrong. 

I’m known for my bravery and keen insight. I'm a 

gobbler who knows right from wrong. I was raised by 

wolves. Trained by one-eyed chickadee ninjas! Other 

birds call me the Turkey Avenger—well, they would, if 

I could avenge a turkey.

   
    I had a ball with those stories (I'll give you a sneak peek of the other one tomorrow).  There's nothing like writing from the POV of a Turkey Avenger, even if he was just in training.

    The next order of business is that I'm going to have a HUGE sale on my book tomorrow for Black Friday.  That will be fun. 

    And finally, the most important thing I wanted to say
. . . "HAPPY THANKSGIVING!"

    We've had a rocky start to the holidays.  Doctor Jones, my one-year-old, has been sick.  I took her to the pediatrician yesterday and found out she has croup.  We were supposed to spend Thanksgiving with my side of the family today, but Doctor Jones's fever went to 102.5 and she's contagious.
    Anyway, yesterday we decided we'd have to stay home.  My older girls tried acting strong even if they did sob a little bit in the front room.  The Zombie Elf ran around like he was an airplane.  Doctor Jones coughed like a seal, so I took her out of the room and tried rocking her to sleep.
    "Poor, baby," I crooned.  "We'll get you better."
    My girls' crying died down and I heard them talking quietly.  
    "We don't have a turkey," the Scribe said.
    "We won't get to hang out with our cousins," the Hippie replied.
    They sounded so terribly sad.  I didn't know what I could do.  Various thoughts ran through my mind, but all of them involved going to the store and Doctor Jones was too hot for that.
    "You know what?" the Scribe said.  "I'm done crying.  Look at the Zombie.  He isn't sad.  These are the times that can make a person strong.  Hippie, I think we need to save Thanksgiving."
    Although I still held a hot coal baby in my arms, I wanted to laugh from the other room.
    "You're right," the Hippie said.  "But how are we gonna do that?"
    "Well, all we need are some homemade games and a turkey."
    "But Mama said we can't thaw one in time.  We can't even go to the store."
    "Don't you remember what's down the street?" the Scribe asked.
    "Oh, yeah!  The peacock farm!  That's perfect.  If we catch a peacock, it won't need to be thawed.  We can bring it home and mama won't even know the difference.  I bet she thinks turkeys look just like peacocks anyway."
    WHAT?!  Who in this world would confuse a turkey with a peacock.  Talk about the ugliest bird and the prettiest.  If they brought a peacock home, what was I supposed to think . . . It was the Aphrodite of it's kind? 
   "One problem, how would we get the peacock home?"
   Oh this would be good!  They didn't think it would be hard catching it?  That would be my first concern.
    "We'll put it in the basket on my bike.  It won't know it's dinner.  And if that doesn't work, we'll tie a long ribbon around it's neck and walk it to the house."
   So, that sounded wonderful from a kids' point of view.  It seems all cartoony and sweet, like this:

    In reality, do they even know how big a peacock is?

    "I can't ride my bike really great, though," the Hippie said.  
    "That's all right.  God is on our side.  I'll teach you how to ride, then we'll go get ourselves a peacock for Thanksgiving dinner!"
    The baby fell asleep at that point.  I covered her sweetly in her bed, and then went to talk with my girls.
    "Do you two want to make some games for tomorrow?  We can't have a turkey, though.  I'm so sorry."
    "But Thanksgiving . . ."
    "Say a prayer if you're really that serious.  I don't want you two sneaking off trying to wrestle a peacock."
    They just stared at me like I was physic.  "But you were with the baby.  How did you know our plan?"
    "I'm a mother . . . I know everything."
     "Even the difference between a peacock and a turkey . . ." The Hippie was stunned. 
    I loved the faces they pulled--especially this morning after realizing Cade brought a turkey home late last night.  It's in the oven right now.  Those peacock wrestlers keep turning on the oven light so they can stare at the turkey.
    "Did Daddy really bring this home?" the Hippie asked.
    "I'm not sure," I said seriously.  "When I woke up this morning, it was already in the oven."
    "Oh my gosh!" the Scribe said.  "An angel saved Thanksgiving."
    
    So, it will be a wonderful day after all.  We have family, homemade games and a turkey.  Now, if I just had some peacock feathers, that would be amazing.  Wouldn't that be funny to stick some feathers in the turkey's rear, right before I served it for dinner?