My grandmother’s house in Frederick, Oklahoma. Photo sent to me by reader Dianne Hall.
My mother was a great cook and holiday meals always went smoothly, and for the most part, they do for me, too. I love holiday cooking disaster stories, but I have none. However, I do have a Thanksgiving disaster story that is at least food-related, and you know when you put family, a holiday, and bodily fluids together in one tale, you’ve got a winning combination.
Back when I was in my 20s and my ex-husband and I were going to school at Texas Tech in Lubbock, we trekked off to my Oklahoma grandmother’s house for Thanksgiving one year, along with my sister. It was about a three and a half hour drive and we arrived as she was ready to put the holiday meal on the table. My grandmother was getting up in years, and there was some mention of there possibly being a bear in the house. Among other things. Sometimes her mind wandered off in creative directions. After the meal when we started helping her put the food away, she explained that we didn’t need to do that. She’d had it sitting out for a few days already anyway. OH. By later that evening, we were all starting to feel sick. And by the next morning, we were close to dying and our holiday meal was coming back out from every direction. (Everyone except my grandmother. She must have gained some kind of immunity to spoiled food due to her optional refrigeration practices.) Desperate for help, we searched in her medicine cabinet and found a box of Pepto-Bismol pills. We couldn’t swallow down the pills fast enough. Then, whew, feeling better already knowing relief was on the way, we took the time to read what the little foil pill packets inside the Pepto-Bismol box had written on them. Ex-Lax. IN HER PEPTO-BISMOL BOX.
I know. Could this story be any better? I DON’T THINK I EVEN NEED TO FINISH IT. IT’S THAT GOOD OF A STORY.
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