Hold the gravy and pass the pipe wrench, it must be Thanksgiving

On a particular Thanksgiving that now seems forever ago, my high school girlfriend inadvertently etched herself into the pantheon of Lorson family history by trying to be helpful in the kitchen. Even though kitchen skills ranked dead last on my wish list of datable attributes, and the girl had made no attempt to dazzle me with spoon and spatula prior to that day, she slid in at my mother’s elbow and did her genuine best to make herself useful.

Mom, always a gracious and caring nurturer, gave Michelle little “this and that’s” to do, but I’m fairly certain these tasks were mostly meant to keep the delicate ingénue safely out of the way. This was undoubtedly the goal when Mom assigned her the task of “disposing” of the potato skins, carrot peels and eggshells that had accumulated at the bottom of the sink during the whirlwind of preparation.

Michelle dutifully proceeded to jam what would later be determined as several pounds of food waste down the sink drain into a kitchen garbage disposal that didn’t exist. The resultant clot proved impenetrable to all but a pipe wrench and a drain snake. This, my friends, is how legends are created. Forty-odd years later, even though the relationship proved predictably ephemeral, the story is recounted each and every Thanksgiving.

The universe, in its own ornery way, seems to stage periodic tributes to that place and time, as I have again and again found myself immersed in emergency situations during the holiday season. Blown breakers, dead dishwashers and even a burst pipe that festively rained water out of the kitchen ceiling — all of these catastrophes have arrived in the busy run-up to Thanksgiving or during the actual celebration itself.

This year I was called to reflect upon those glorious days of yore while dragging toilets up and down two flights of stairs, then toiling the entire length of a day to match plumbing from the dawn of municipal sanitation to that which can be found in a modern hardware superstore. Twelve hours and five trips to two separate stores later, I finally arrived at a flushable moment.

There’s a lot of hands-and-knees work involved in such projects and plenty of moments where I found myself in a prayerful posture while kneeling over a leaky connection or reflecting upon a soggy set of instructions. The message is never wasted on me. I always make it a point, once the catastrophe has passed and I am finally sitting down to a holiday feast, to give thanks not only for my many blessings, but also for what has become my annual lesson in humility. The good Lord always seems to hear my words — and begin planning next year’s teaching.

Kristin and John Lorson would love to hear from you. Write Drawing Laughter, P.O. Box 170, Fredericksburg, OH 44627, or email John at jlorson@alonovus.com.