I know what you’re thinking. “Big Al just can’t help dissing his poor wife. First, he outed her addiction to weed, then he ranted on about her purse being a black hole. Is there no end to his treachery? Has he no sense of decency?”
Well, actually no. When I see a story that just has to be told, I tell it. And so it is with the turkeys that surround my wife.
I don’t really know when all this started. One minute, I’m casually reading the many blogs I follow and the next, I find my wife in her craft room with a bunch of, well, there’s no other way to put this…..turkeys.
I first became suspicious when I noticed droppings on the floor which resembled little pine cone scales. Then there were miniscule pieces of feather floating aimlessly in the air around our domicile. But there was no noise. No gobbling, no clucking, no flapping of wings. Finally, when she didn’t come out for hours, it got the best of me. As a consideration, I usually knock before entering her room, but if I was going to know the truth about the state of things, it would require complete surprise. What awaited was
There were turkeys scattered around in all stages of life. Some were in their full glory, some in recognizable form but without regalia, and some existing only in pieces waiting patiently for the deft hand of their creator to bring them to life. Lying all about were batches of pine cones in sundry sizes and form, and piles of feathers that would make a pillow-maker envious. From her work station and the adjoining debris were emerging some absolutely engaging replicas of the old Tom Bird himself. My misgivings quieted, I gently closed the door.
It turns out she established this production line to sell these “crafty” critters for an upcoming charity event. I knew from years of experience that she had clever craft-making talents, but this one was an effort most fowl.
Thanksgiving is definitely in the air.