Send us your Thanksgiving stories

Who can write a story in 200 words?

Dozens and dozens did it last year in 200 words. This is the length of a letter. We are not asking for a manuscript. Our Thanksgiving memories last year were particularly compelling, and they ran over several days. I'm sure our readers will come through again.

MOI was much younger, living in Paris, in a 7th floor walk up flat.
Mates showed up with bottles of wine, fresh bread, cheese and fruit AND the most horrid tasting punkin pie, French mates were clueless as to what is was to taste like.
Young, in Paris, lovely wine(bit too much wine) and throwing that horrid pie at one another, ranks as one of the best Thanksgiving memories, am still good mates with the folks that celebrated with MOI that day.
Top that Rich!!!

My best Thanksgiving was in 2002 after 5 horrible months of recovering from a massive stroke. Still unable to walk but truly thankful for life and surrounded by my family. Everyday is a blessing if you wake up and take in air.

Working for USCOA (US Commission of Austria) my boss was Major Glenn M., a survivor of the death march. Food was very important to him. He invited us (Austrian "indigenous personnel" Ha!) to spend an American Thanksgiving with him and his family. The Turkey (imported from where I don't know) and the stuffing was Ok except for the sage in it. The pumpkin pie was a very alien experience, but what each of us indigenous ones had a hard time swallowing was the raisin sauce over ham. We thought that Americans had strange foods, including that to the roof of the mouth sticking peanut butter. But 57 years in America must have acclimatized me because I like Thanksgiving fare. But I still won't eat raisin sauce over ham. My dyed in the wool American husband would not eat it either when served in the mess hall. He preferred my mother's liberal, socialist cooking...sorry, I could not resist.

A happy Thanksgiving feast to all, and espcially to Jackie Krage.

"Rich" "To make a long story short!" hahaha!
Happy Thanksgiving!

Jackie...You are right.Everyday is a blessing.Thank you for the reminder.

When I a teen living in Chicago we piled into the car with our turkey for our annual feast at our grandparent’s house. Unfortunate we found that we had a flat tire before leaving our parking spot. Fixed the flat which took us about an hour. In all the commotion we forgot the Turkey in the back seat in the subzero degree weather. We brought the Turkey back inside the house, it fell out of our Mom's hands and slid across the kitchen floor. All of us laughed at the sight of our dinner sliding across the floor. This was decades before turkey bowling was in vogue.

----

"MOI" that Rob

There are three Thanksgiving treats for me: One was the time my family was traveling to Thanksgiving in New Mexico and got stopped by snow and getting hungry. We had a doggy bag of spaghetti from the previous night in the car but no pot to warm it up in. We eventually fried the left over spaghetti in the hubcap from our van over a can of sterno and stood in the snowy desolate of the desert and ate it. It was exquisite. Then we turned around and drove back home to California. The second was fifteen years ago, an unusual Thanksgiving in that not one loved one was missing; we finished dinner, laughing and happy and my Father had a heart attack. It was a long night but he lived and we gave thanks. We still tease him about the extent he went to, to get out of doing the dishes. The third... is true of every single year... my mother pulls out a prayer book given to her by my great grandfather with notes written in his hand. The youngest gets their turn at reading the same prayer that has been read on Thanksgiving in our family for over 100 years. The English version is first and we all butcher the Norwegian translation next. The food and the people change over the years as new people are added to the family along with their traditions, and the old ones no longer alive but the traditional prayer is always the same.

Rich, MOI is not 'au fait' with 'turkey bowling' but gathers that you learned right well at early age. MOI had a right good giggle at your memory of Thanksgiving past and will not try to best it. The award goes to YOU.

Rob,

I like to have fun with the word "MOI" inteerchagably without regard to it's meaning since I have no real use for it other then to poke fun.

I adopted your word of choice because it is unique to you. You have better humor then "MOI" right wing friends who go into a feeding frenzy everytime they hear Clinton (now Obama). Now maybe more Clinton after all.

I'm writing a song it starts off like this;

"It's a MOI world after all, it's a MOI world after all, its a MOI, MOI world."

Or

"It's a blue County after all, it's a blue County after all, it's a blue County after all it a blue blue County."

I better get out of the water before I get bit!

Mine was one of the stories printed last year. I only have one funny one.

In case there is room for another one; happening right here in California. One Friday; following Thursday's Thanksgiving dinner's gorging, we went camping at the San Lorenzo River near Santa Cruz. Saturday morning my three year old cried out for the world to hear: "Mommy! Mommy! I see the man's bobo!" Some distance from us, a scrawny, old man had his bare ars hanging out from his tattered gray pinstriped flannel trousers. He was wrestling with his pole to get a fishing lure out of a tree.

"We must give the poor man your extra pair of Levies we brought along."
"Hell no! If you feel so sorry for him give him your skirt."
"You are mean!

Meanwhile the old codger had vanished. And through the still of the morning resounded the purr of a powerful car engine. From behind the copse of trees; out drove the old man in a brand new Cadillac De Ville.

"Don’t You dare say a word." And hubby new better than not to take the advise.

I seem to be getting a mixed message. Were we supposed to post here on the beehive or sent the posts as letters to the letter editor of the Bee?

How disappointing. I thought there would be nostalgic Thankgiving posts by the dozen. I sure would like to know where "rob defrees" found those umlaut for his post. I miss them for my email in the German language.

My dear, MOI pays for a service that converts his keyboard into the language he wants to write in, bit of a chore otherwise, then MOI lifts the daft from the screen and post onto where ever.

Like you, MOI is gobsmacked that many did not tell a Thanksgiving Tale, they many well be hoping to be among favoured few in the Special Section.

MOI sent his story in but is not holding breath.

I guess Isabell, the story I sent in last year is timeless so if anyone missed it, I can tell it here.

As you know, my wife is from Australia, or "Oz" as we call it. They of course don't do Thanksgiving and she had barely heard of it. I explained the concept on what was going to be her first one, and she took it all in during the day at my brother's house. After it was over she commented later that it seemed like a lot of trouble for 30 minutes of eating. Several people buzzing around the kitchen at any given time for hours since very early. Others sitting in groups doing various things. Some watching football, some (mostly kids) outside running around. She didn't observe much socializing with everyone off doing various different things. However, she thought it was fun when I took all the kids around to gather up colored leaves...orange, red, burgundy and yellow. Soft ones, no hard crunchy brown ones. Then we scattered them all over the floor around the table and on the table. This is decorating that the kids really like to do along with their arts and crafts brought home from school, and it makes the dining area look great along with accenting the centerpiece.

Anyway...as the years clicked by she slowly came to appreciate the occasion and it's significance over what it appears to be by a casual first time observer and soon it came our turn to host. Now, I've never cooked a turkey before and of course neither had she. So after going online and studying up we felt confident we could pull it off.

Thanksgiving morning, she, along with our 11 year old daughter, were getting it ready to put in the oven. I came into the kitchen while they were giggling about something and I asked what. Turned out they were a little grossed out sticking their hands inside the bird putting in the stuffing. I asked where the giblets were. She responded: "Giblets, what are those?"
"I'm not entirely sure but they're like turkey parts...the neck...gizzard or something...stuff like that."
Noooo...we didn't see anything like that."
I told her they usually come in a bag. She still had the confused look, and I shrugged figuring that not all turkeys come with giblets.

Later on when all were gathered around the table and everything seemed to have turned out great, I began to carve the turkey. As I made my way around to the closed end nearest the wings, I discovered a piece of something wax paperish. I investigated further. There was more. I kept cutting and poking and prodding. Soon I was performing a sort of "waxy paperectomy." Then I discovered what it was and whipped it out, held it up and proclaimed "Honey...I found the Giblets!"

How to reconcile hunger and pride. It seems that people are reluctant to share their Thanksgiving experiences. So here is another tale of yore . During the famine , imposed as punishment by the victors of World War II, what I hated more than being hungry was being a druggist. A traditionally male profession that had been forced on me by the state because the young males were in uniform and I was a top student. Having had English language instructions since first grade, I took a job with the US occupation forces.

One of the American supervisors invited me to go to the First Three Grader GI night club. We had drinks, I learned to dance the jitterbug and I had a good time. My date's name Emmett was as alien to my ear as was his hometown Broken Arrow Oklahoma. His jeep had the word OKIE on it. (The meaning of it I learned many years later, living in Clovis, CA.) At one point Emmett said he was going to get something to eat. I was a bit surprises that he did not invite me along. But I chalked it off to different nations differnt customs.

About 11:00 PM (the official curfew for the general population) he took me to my door. There he produced a package from his pocket, and he said:
"I am so sorry that I could not take you to the snack bar, but we are not allowed to provide food to non-allied personnel." And I asked:
"You mean you are allowed to ply me with liquor, but you can not invite for a meal?" He shook his head in assent. And I really got angry and hurt and shamed all in one.
"Keep it a shouted at him."
"If you don't take It a throw it away!" And he tossed it across the road.
After I heard the jeep leave, I came out from my door and I retrieved the package, and I ate it . I don't know what I ate, but I remember that I thought that it was heaven in a bun.

"During the famine , imposed as punishment by the victors of World War II..............."

It went down hill from there and never recovered. Not a very 'uplifting tale' to be sure. One hopes there was 'crow' on that bun.

My harmless revery into the past has been tainted by rancor for no good reason. Reality Check: "Germany, as punishment for her crimes must be at the end of the food line" The officially allowed amount of Calories for Germans was set at 1000 by the British Government and the Occupation Authorities. Science calculates a minimum of 2600 daily calories for maintenance of health. Even "crow' would have made a calorie supplement to those just 1000.

I am an intellectual of utmost integrity and respect for history. War; fighting, winning, loosing; it's all ugly business. Man's inhumanity toward man. Therefore for those not in the know, it would behoove not to attack those who are informed of historical facts. Mr. Defrees outburst against me is no better than than the purveyors of revisionist history that deny the Holocaust. And that is all I shall say and/or aknowledge on the subject.

Recommended reading: Victor Gollancz, English Jewish author and Peace Nobel Prize winning humanitarian.

Pea Soup is another stopgap till the Thanksgiving stories come pouring in. After the Soviet troops left my part of town, the Americans came in. The Soviets had destroyed all food in the stores. The Americans provided the starving civilians with rations of dried peas. Unfamiliar with the legume, Mother put them in a pot and cooked soup. Sitting down at the table, Mother labeled the soup into our china called Dresden by Villeroy and Bosh. One by one, Mother and my siblings laid down their spoons. I kept eating. It tasted good. My brother started to say something, but Mother shut him up. I was too vain to wear my glasses. My brother broke out in laughter. He made me look at his soup. And it was full of white little worms. If maternal looks could kill, I no longer would have a brother in Vienna. Mother was glad that at least one member of the family had food that day. From then on, she soaked the peas overnight and drained them before cooking. We never called it pea soup, with great humor we gave it its elegant name; potage aux pois. I have known hunger a lot, but I never had acne, my teenage skin was flawless and my figure was a head-turner.

At times our family celebrations are like the Roseanne show. A bunch of people with no manners. We went to the home of my sisters brother in law and they were eating right of the turkey while cutting it then they brought in a table and rusty chairs from outside. For a tablecloth they put a sheet that appeared dirty to me. We were grossed out to say the least. My sister told me I thought I was to good to sit with them to which I said no I just want to have clean chairs and tablecloths that werent just ripped of someones bed. We had two exchange students that got the culture shock on that day. I warned them in advance about the manners but they topped even my expectations.

Jackie Krage; I am sure that you will never forget that Thanksgiving . I bet you are laughing about it now. I am laughing. Where were those exchange students from?

We live in a society where in the trials of the poor are kept out of site and out of mind. In Fresno one can go about their daily life without having to cross paths with those who shiver in the cold without electricity or have but one meal or less a day to sustain them. The majority of my generation in the United States has no clue what Isabell and those like her in the war torn countries of World War II endured; on both sides. In the same vein, I can only interpret what I hear from my parents on the hunger of the Depression here in the United States in the 1930s. I can not fully understand hunger and need because I have not lived it myself. My father’s family went homeless during the Depression; raising five children under the age of ten in the back of a pick up truck for a time. In all the years with my father, I was 45 before he told me that. I asked my father if he ever went hungry. He hesitated and picked his words very carefully. He said his parents always made sure they had something to eat every day. After being pressed all he would add was that his parents did everything they could to make sure they ate something every day; not always as much as they would have liked but every day none-the-less. He told me he never shared the hardship of that portion of his life out of respect for his parents; he didn’t want anyone to think less of them because they had difficulty providing for their children. Their pride helped them get through the Depression and he didn’t want that accomplishment taken from them. In fact, even though they ate every day does not mean they did not go hungry. Sometimes the hunger made it difficult to sleep or to pay attention in school and as young children they did not thrive. I agree 1000 calories a day will keep someone alive but does not mean they don’t face hunger every day and growing children can not thrive on that amount. Just because Germans were allowed 1000 calories a day does not mean they actually received that much either. Pride is an interesting emotion. For many people it is what keeps them going even when starving to death; it gives them the will to overcome. My father was proud he got something to eat every day. The is no room for rancor in regards to Isabell’s story; it is misplaced. It is a story of two young people trying to create a resemblance of a normal life wherein they have no control of the circumstances. The young man proud that he had done the right thing in the only way he could, which was a risk, had his pride stung when it was rejected. Isabell was given the realization that she was allowed alcohol but not food (i.e. you are useful for a bang but not valuable enough to feed). She was very young. What a shock to come to that realization. Most of us here would muster the same pride and reject it as well. They both ate crow that night and neither deserved it. He was shamed that she wasn’t allowed to share his food or else he wouldn’t have secreted it to her (I also believe he threw it across the road in attempt to allow her to save face and retrieve it later). She was shamed when she took that long walk across the road and ate the food out of hunger. Afterward I’m sure she’d wished she’d thanked him. Both of them, in remembering that evening, likely feel more empathy for the pride of the other than for their own hurt feelings. It’s a good Thanksgiving story. I will share it with my children. In their world of plenty, I’d like them to remember those that do without and remind them helping should be done in a way to preserve ones pride because they will need it for the hard times ahead. Neither Isabell nor her date were wrong; they were just struggling to function in the lives they were dealt. Do not begrudge Isabell her pride in the situation. Self worth and pride is what kept her going.

The depression was a bad time for all from what I was told by my parents and the reason we didn't have unecessary things when I was growing up. We had food, clothing and a roof over our heads and that was all we needed. Todays society is so spoiled that if they don't hasve all the latest things they feel deprived. I don't have tolerance for people that complain about not having money for food and electric but have the cell phone and cable tv. Although they are nice to have they are not necessary.

Isabel the students were from Austria and IOceland. This year we have another one from Austria.

Thanksgiving of a different kind. Kim Tanksley understands pride. But if I had known of the attention drawn to my little story, I would not have shared it. I gave the authentic setting for a personal experience in a long gone past. And as gratified as I am about Kim Tanksley's insight, as angry I am at defrees for questioning my knowledge of history, and attacking the nostalgia itself. I really don't know what was in that bun , but I remember that it tasted like heaven to the hungry I, at hat humiliating moment. Probably it was a hamburger. It is one of the few American foods I don't eat. It's that patty of unadulterated ground beef. I love meatloaf.

And I read my post over again. Not in any way did I even hint that 1000 calories a day per person were supposed to kill 70 million people. But hunger was one of the calculated punishments for the losers of World War II. It was Germans who were responsible of 8 million death in concentration camps. Henry Morgenthau, Secretary of the Treasury of the United States, declared that "...there are 20 million too many Germans..." But I am sure not even he had meant to literally starve to death any of them. One thing I must concede, my post was not chided and ridiculed in some contrived cockney lingo. One more little goody for my detractors....in the meeting of the Allies in Casablanca it had been decided that Austria was to be treated as a victim of Nazi agression, but she would have to shoulder some responsibility for her co-operation. And she did. I was there. But the Austrians endured. Buried her civilian dead, cleared away the bomb rubble....The ensuing peace treaty was respected by the four powers and the occupation ended; and Austria's "Economic Miracle" occurred. "And like everything in that country it happened without fanfare, silently. It was not made of paper, it was made of steel..." wrote Horst Kruger, of Frankfurt's (Germany) newspaper "Neuen Rundschau." He called Austria a foreign nation with similar language. he mentioned the motto: "...tu felix Austria..." And he asks: "Why no felix Germania?.."

I have no reason to be embarrassed to be an immigrant from the Democratic Republic of Austria. Diversity in the US is manifold. That in itself is a Thanksgiving story.

Happy Thanksgiving to my friends and fellow bees...Ok..even to those who don't like me.

reference: Austrian motto: Alii bella gerunt, tu felix Austria nube: (Let other nations have their wars, you happy Austria marry.)

'...........contrived cockney lingo'. Rich that is.

The MOI is contrived, sets apart........as to the 'Brit Speak', the dear lady is clueless to the true nature of MOI and it is indeed the maner used to chat. Me thinks that the dear lady has read me websiteand even viewed filmed bits........how sweet.

But the "dear lady" is not clueless about the English rationing or local English patois. I went there as soon I was allowed to enter the UK, sponsored by a friend of my father's dating back to their days at the University prior to World War I. When I lived with Mary, a fellow student at Manchester Universty we had rations. But we had more food avaiable than we could afford. Moi/defrees I am old enough to be the parent of someone your age. So please give me the respect not to include me in your posts, unless you can be fair and objective to an older lady. I shall debate anyone, but I served my time trying to correct childish behavior. My babyboomer daughter turned out to be a great person. And I give thanks for that. One thing I have not decided yet. Do I let her know about the beehive?

Gee, I'm sure glad I shared my story.

Isabel on the subject of "respect", that pissed me off today.

I walked up to a counter to order food, three young gentlemen (teens) were directly in back of me (next in line) all the sudden a 40ish lady walks right past them and continues on to make her order then looks back at teens and "says I'm sorry but I am so hungry please excuse me". The teens looked at eachother an laughed.

I told one of the teens I wouldn't have let that happen unless she asked first, at the very least.

I have respect for elders but they in turn should respect kids or people younger then them as well.

I guess rudness has no age limit.

"Rich" You are right. But it has less to do with age than with what we call "class" how we have been brought up. A lout is a lout, old or young.

'A lout is a lout, old or young.' From the mouth of a 'Bee' to the ear of an old chicken...........in the words of Winston Churchill: '.........some chicken, some neck'.....Never let it be said that this old geezer can not 'take the piss' with the best of them'.............OI!, MOI forgot, the 'Beehive' is no place for 'contrived cockney lingo'.

On the day befor Thanksgiving, MOI gives 'THANKS' that there is a vehicle in Fresno, known as "The Fresno Bee" that allows for the exchange of ideas, however ill received they may be. In reading all of the past post, one is made aware of that fact.

'The world may little note or long remember', the 'bits and bobs' told here but they serve testament to that.............in the end, that may well be the best tale of Thanksgiving told yet.

MOI/defrees(don't you just love the upper case/lower case used to denote the old geezer) will not mention 'she who must be obeyed' and just wish 'Rich' and others a happy holiday and remind that they should not stuff cakeholes with too much turkey and pie, as 'once on the lips, forever on the hips' applies............Cheers!

Thanksgiving 2008!

MOI posted on website today and somehow it all seemd to tie in with this thread.......if you can deal with the wordy take of MOI that is. Not sure this will get posted on here but here goes:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9FZv2j4Cad8 He is after all 'An Englishman'..................

My dears, if you thought that MOI made it odd yesterday with post, this, what follows, will have you thinking that MOI has gone complete crackers, and needs to be locked up. Pray, allow MOI to explain..........

MOI does not live in a cave, or is he chained to the wall in the flat. Settled into life in Fresno, MOI continues to reach out and make new friends far and wide. One such new friend that fell MOI's way was Phil Ging, best mates with Kurt Smith(the very same copper you are 'au fait' with). Having viewed exploits of the two on YOUTUBE and shared filmed bits with you, MOI has come to like very much Phil Ging. There is much to admire, not the least of which is his cheeky nature(he be almost as cheeky as this old geezer). Being that is the day before Thanksgiving on this side of the pond, MOI thought he would tell the tale of Phil and his lovely wife.

There you go again, dear reader, the eyes roll, the head shakes in puzzlement and you begging to wonder where it all leads..............MOI has a ready reply. As a rule, MOI has come to believe that most American are 'tight arses', never to travel and much less to meet folks in different parts of the world who may well be most interesting were it not for the language or distance problem. There is much dirt on the well worn trainers of MOI, and he has never failed to take advantage of getting 'au fait' with folks different than self. Were he such a fellow, his life would have been boring and there would be no clever MOI today!

MOI digresses.............

Let the tale unfold.

Phil is a regular 'Sir Edmund Hillary' as is his sidekick and best mate Kurt. Who best to describe the story of the meet but Phil, in his own words, lifted from a site he has:

"Phil Ging (in black) taught Physical Education at a boys Prep. School in Hertfordshire, just outside London, England. Now he has moved to Northumberland in northern England, where he is pursuing new career opportunities.
He met Californian policeman, Kurt Smith (in blue) in 1993, while hiking The Tour du Mont Blanc in the Alps.
They became lifelong friends and have since gone on to do 14 long distance hikes together in Europe and the USA."

Cue the music Maestro:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eMp6GzOI2tc

Right, Phil and Kurt are not bloody likely to tanks of air and hiking gear costumed as 'nuns' but wanted to give you a taste for the 'Free Time' persuits enjoyed by the two chaps. The filmed bits shown to you in the past do not do justice to the many exploits of the two, regular mountain goats they be! And am told there are still mountains to climb in the future. How very glad MOI is that his old bones and 'bulk' preclude him from ever being asked to join.

Having 'discovered' Phil & Kurt on YOUTUBE, MOI had the cheek to view more of the filmed bits offered up by Phil. Regular 'Cecil B. DeMille, he is and the running commentary provided by himself and Kurt Smith, joined by their wives is a regular cut up. Phil seems to have his camera always at the ready and is apt to pop in face where ever they may be, be it on a mountain or in a café or in the dining area of home. Phil will start filming and the comments flow. From a running 'tongue in cheek' bit on history, to 'nothing on dinner plate', to Phil sampling cat treats, there is no end to the colourful comments to be heard on the film. Even sharing going to the loo is heard by one and all.

How much cheek does MOI have? Massive amount it seems, as he quickly added Phil as a 'friend' and started to add comments to his filmed bits. Phil was ever so kind and returned the favour, and we now share thought via email and comments. More layers than an onion Phil has and it is this that makes his a right clever chap to know.

On his YOUTUBE channel, Phil share much of his life for others to view. There are filmed bits of travels, and holidays taken, along with moments in the life of his cat!

MOI is no fan of cats, but it seems that a suggestion from Kurt Smith got Phil interested in the joys of having a 'pussy' in the home and he acquired one. First one was a cat named 'Danny Boy' and to say that Phil and his wife were bonkers over is to put it mildly. They adored 'Danny Boy' and shared the cat's life with the whole world. At this point in the story, MOI has to add a sad note. Recently, 'Danny boy' met with an untimely departure from this world. Phil was gutted.

Cue that bloody orchestra again!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5I-oI8v6rwI

Did MOI mention that he loathes cats? Has something to do with the smell of the box used, should think. MOI is not without a heart and knows that Phil and his wife loved 'Danny Boy', so much so that Phil would share 'cat treats' with. YUCK, and Phil tells that they taste like pepperoni, even offered to send a box to MOI for Christmas! On a happy note, MOI can tell you that 'Danny Boy' has been replaced by another. 'Tommy' is the lucky rescued 'pussy's' name. Now if he can only hide the treats from Phil and stay off the train rails, he will enjoy a most comfy life.

MOI has not been a gentleman, leaving poor Moira left out in the cold. Do let us drag the lovely lady into the story. And there is a story about the lovely Moira. Seems in an earlier life, Moira was employed at Buck House as a 'Social Secretary to Her Majesty, The Queen. How posh is that? Few folks get to be 'in the presence' oft, and here Phil had a wife that was blessed so many times. The snap used on Phil's YOUTUBE channel, sans Moira(she was hacked out of the snap) is from a gala held at the Palace that Phil attended in 'evening clothes' Dashing, to say the least.

Given that Moira and Phil now live in Northumberland, in the north of England, wonder what The Queen now thinks of her once trusted aide. For you not 'au fait' with UK, Northumberland has a colourful history in the life of English Monarchs. There was once a 'Duke of Northumberland' that caused Henry VIII so much grief that he took his head off. Plots, my dears.............. Moira is ever so lovely and doubt she plots anything more sinister than which sort of scone she will have with tea.........

My dears, if you are beginning to think MOI feels that Phil is a 'brick of a fellow', you would be right. And there is proof of that. Recently, Phil placed a filmed hommage to his father on YOUTUBE. Very moving it was. After viewing it was no shock to MOI to discover that Phil was the product of a much loved family and a son to a father that gave the whole of his life to make the world a better place. Phil's dad fought in WWII, was medaled for that service and came home to begin a new life in service to England. George Ging became a copper! Rose to the rank of 'Chief Inspector', he did.

Drag that bloody orchestra back:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7HAD1fcPDOM

MOI means no disrespect with the filmed bit. MOI is unabashed in his love of coppers, and you are 'au fait' with that. More's the pity that coppers in America are not held in higher esteem, they do so much good for the community. Is it any wonder that a bond developed between Kurt Smith and Phil, beside the love of climbing? They do have much in common.

Round bout now, most of you are wondering if this post will go on forever. Given that MOI is wordy and this will have to be post for the next few days, pray, indulge MOI, the story is far too good to let go and there is so very much left to tell. Besides, if you get restless, stop reading and come back to, it might help to digest all of the turkey and pie stuffed into cakeholes tomorrow............Did MOI say that????

Long before moving to the north of England, Phil and Moira lived in London. Phil was employed at a boy's prep school in Hertfordshire, just outside London. Right posh that area is and is home to 'Becks & Posh'(he of football fame and she of singing group fame). Wonder if Phil ever got to kick a ball or two with the famous chap.

While in London, Phil and Moira would pop down to local and have a few from time to time. Now, unlike we American, who can not hold self back when faced with famous folks, the English have no such problem. One is apt to run into famous folks and they are not set upon, just regular folks they be. Just famous! Phil tells in an email that two such famous folks were known to hang out at the local he went to. Jack Wild of 'Oliver!' fame and Tommy Cooper. Most of you dear readers are 'au fait' with Jack Wild, the definitive 'Artful Dodger' but to many who have yet to cross the pond, Tommy Cooper may not ring a bell. More's the pity, as there are many who think that Tommy Cooper was the best comedian there ever was. MOI would be one of the folks who believe that and if you 'google' the name you will see why. Tommy Cooper also has the sad honour of having died during his act on LIVE telly.

In honour of Jack Wild and Tommy Cooper and all of the lovely night spent a the local in London, drag back the orchestra and let them have a crack at this:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HPnJM3zWfUo

MOI is a bit dated and many will not know that the voice on this tune is that of Noel Coward, but that is a story for another day. Phil and Moira love going to West End to see shows. Come to think on, Kurt Smith and his lovely wife love good musicals as well. No end to the good taste of these lovely folks. Phil is also partial to classical music and share with MOI a love of good English spirit moving tunes. Which allows MOI to bed the poor suffering orchestra to venture back and give us more music:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OJDDkMuvkgQ

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vitVKq9hNus

Bloody hell, MOI has just gone mad with the music. Less we forget Moira, allow MOI to offer this lovely tune up for her. Not sure why this one springs to mind but is my sense of her(do tell Moira if MOI is off).............Come on, plead with MOI for the lovely orchestra to return to centre stage:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mXWkIZUPmDY

However much fun MOI is having with this post, there comes a time to tie it together and bring it to a close. Will tell you true, this post was selfish on my part, it was written just to amuse Phil and Moira and Kurt and a long suffering mate in London, Clive. MOI warned Phil that he was going to be subjected to MOI 'taking a piss' at, and he, Phil, told that he was looking forward to MOI's cheeky take on. Might be a bit wicked for some on this side of the pond but done in good fun.

MOI will forever treasure the folks who have come into life, from what ever quarter, they have added the spice to it, and made MOI more the richer for having been a part of. In time, MOI hopes to meet in the flesh Phil and his lovely wife, am sure that it will be a riot. Most would have you believe that the world is small and limited. MOI does not share that opinion, and has tried to be a part of life, here and in UK and other parts travelled. Blinkered MOI is not, and if as some will say: '.................contrived cockney lingo' is too much to take, shows how little they know. MOI has met posh folks and folks from Eastend of London, surely a cockney or two, but never, never has MOI tried to sham an accent. MOI takes the posh and the not so posh language heard and mixes it up. Clive and others tell that it is what sets MOI apart, the blending of both. To be true, MOI can speak right proper, but what is the trick in that? What is the harm in having a little humour in the telling of life?

Given that MOI has put out the chaps in the orchestra all day, wonders if they will drag selves back and end this bit with two bits of music. One is a last go at 'Danny Boy' and the other is one that MOI hears when he thinks of England and his mates there.

Orchestra! One last go:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OCbuRA_D3KU

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Dxn73vXEW7w

There you have it my dears, THE END!

I, too, am glad that you shared your story about the lost and found giblets. But I wished that there had been more Thanksgiving memories. What we got exposed to was a couple of stopgaps and the unjustified attack thereof, followed by kind defense and renewed attack for reasons unknown. But I know that I have learned a lot. I shall never again share personal experiences with other than select "strangers." One can never tell for certain what and who one bumps into along the way into cyber space relations. Happy Thanksgiving to your dear Aussie, no longer clueless about giblets. hahaha!

Isabel dont ever let anyone deter you from sharing your stories. Let the attacks roll off your back. Happy Thanksgiving to all.

Rob DeFrees – you seem bothered that you were said to have a “contrived accent” when in fact you say so yourself. If the meaning of contrived is: not natural; unrealistic; to think up; devise; fabricate and you said, "MOI takes the posh and the not so posh language heard and mixes it up,” then in fact it is contrived per the definition. You say you have never spoken with an accent. In videos of you, that I have seen, you are correct; however, your writing suggests an accent with the terminology used. Since it is not the way you naturally speak then it is contrived. No negativity need be inferred; only definition.

Where I do find exception and perhaps some negativity is with your statement, “As a rule, MOI has come to believe that most American are 'tight arses', never to travel and much less to meet folks in different parts of the world who may well be most interesting were it not for the language or distance problem.” I think you are looking so often to far off places that you are missing what is right in front of you. Perhaps your opinion has clouded what you see. I find your statement to be incorrect. On a daily basis I meet Americans that are well traveled and “internationally astute”. You opinion is yours to have although I ask that you take a second, less critical look. As for being ‘tight arses’; I dearly wish my arse were as tight as it used to be!!! HA!

Don't let any grinches keep you from sharing.

To be true, MOI uses massive amount of 'Brit Speak', that is indeed how MOI speaks on a daily basis. The contrived bit is in taking upper and lower class usage and blending them, when one can speak right proper. Folks in Fresno tell MOI that he does speak oddly.

'MOI', now that is contrived, as it is done deliberate.

As to meeting well travelled folks in Fresno, that is not my experience, most have not been across the pond and more still do not speak more than one language. MOI does long to return to London and to re-visit other cities, will tell true, but also knows far more in far off places that know of California than folks here know of other places. To be true, Fresno is NOT London but MOI sees it for what it is, no clouded glasses here.

MOI was doing right well in the 'arse' department until went under the knife for hip replacement. When they got done peeling back 'arse' it never looked the same, long scars and deep cuts made it drop like a rock. Looks like a bun one has taken a mean knife to and left for dead.

Rich, would MOI be the 'Thanksgiving Grinch'??