It was fun and it was delicious.
One interesting thing happened. The turkey’s pop-up popped up too early.
You know the pop-up. It’s that little white doo-hickey stuck in the turkey near the top. When the little red thing-a-ma-jig sticks out of the little white doo-hickey, the turkey is done.
I’m sure there’s a more technical way to explain it, but you got it, right?
So the smell of turkey and stuffing has been wafting through the house for over three hours. The Wife pulls open the oven door as I wander in for another cup of the Elixir.
“That can’t be.”
“Wha – “
“It’s got another hour. That’s not right.”
I look over her shoulder and there’s the pop-up, giving us the thumbs-up, telling the world this turkey is done.
I found out by listening (out of waving-arm-reach) that according to her friends, a bird this size should take four hours plus - not a little over three. I also learned there are books that would back up her friends. Even Martha Stewart agrees with the friends.
But her friends, the books, and Martha are NOT in the oven with this particular turkey.
After another three minutes of staring, I take a pull of the Elixir, and gently call the question so the Thanksgiving committee can continue its agenda. (There's a football game starting.) I stand out of arm-waving distance, just in case.
“Have the pop-ups worked on the last bazillion turkeys?” I ask.
“Yeah. Yeah, worked good.”
“Has it every given us a bad turkey, either too bloody or too dry?”
Wrinkling her brow briefly, she shakes her head.
“No. No, can’t say that it ever has.”
“Well. Whaddaya think?”
The Wife scowls for another minute, crouching down to study the bird while trying to utilize her Super Woman x-ray vision. She stands up suddenly and reaches for the oven mitts.
“Grab the knife. You’re carving in about four minutes.”
And guess what? The white meat is done and juicy. The dark meat is done and juicy. The pop-up comes through again.
Technology is wonderful, eh?
My task done, me, the cup of Elixir, and pilfered turkey chunks sneak back into the living room. Looking out the front window, contentedly chewing fowl and sipping Elixir, it hits me.
Huh.
Trust comes from a track record of being trustworthy. Just like all those little red pop-ups stuck in all those turkeys over the years.
No matter what the friends or the books say. Or Martha. No matter what the world says.
Some times you gotta trust when it doesn’t make a lotta sense to do it.
But if the One making the promise is trustworthy - as in eternally trustworthy – I’d be a turkey if I didn’t, right?