By Barbara Falconer Newhall
Hope you are having a great Thanksgiving surrounded by friends, family or both — of every political persuasion. As always there’s a lot to be thankful for, but today I’m feeling especially grateful for that most American of birds, the turkey.
Every year around this time a bunch of them show up at our house. One arrives in a shopping bag, all plucked and cleaned and frozen and ready to be stuffed.
The other turkeys arrive in our back yard on their own two feet, fully feathered and wattled. (Honest, they show up in our neighborhood right around Thanksgiving as if to . . . what? Guilt us? Apparently the invasion of turkeys in California neighborhoods is the result of importing by the state.)
Our daughter Christina has been the Thanksgiving cook for several years now. But this year, with Jon laid up with a broken ankle and Christina distracted by wedding plans for next May, I forgave myself for taking the ultimate shortcut yesterday: I drove over to a local supermarket and bought a ten-pound turkey with all the trimmings for 99 bucks.
When I searched my digital photo collection the other day for “turkey,” these photos turned up.