A Thanksgiving all star

Letter from the editor

I don't mean to brag, but I reign as one of the all-time greats when it comes to Thanksgiving.

Don't let my thin frame fool you, I can eat with the best of them. Growing up in a household full of Southerners prepares one for the rigors of a big meal.

Beside that, I've proven I can eat through injuries, making me something of the Cal Ripken Jr. of the Thanksgiving world.

Two years ago, just four short days before Turkey Day, I was dining with friends who had just had the carpet — the white carpet — in their apartment cleaned. "It sure would be funny if I spilled spaghetti on this carpet," I uttered moments before spilling red wine. Not even minutes later I said, "With my luck I'll tear my ACL skiing tomorrow." The next day — the first of the season — I tore the medial collateral ligament in my right knee.

What was I thankful for that year? Irony. And in the subsequent years I've given thanks for ski bindings that release properly.

But I pressed on, as a knee injury has very little bearing on one's ability to unbutton pants and recline in turkey-induced bliss.

Enjoyment of a large quantity of food, however, is sometimes precluded by enjoyment of a large quantity of Thanksgiving guests. These have, in my years, included a very small, adoring cousin who inquired after my hand in marriage (southerners sometimes misunderstand certain taboos), a friend's co-worker who's primary address was a late 80's Buick and, of course, plenty of friends and family.

The most memorable — aside from the pain in one knee that brings back certain recollections — was a Thanksgiving that wasn't. A few good American friends and I ate turkey sandwiches in a New Zealand pub while our Canadian pals looked on disapprovingly. See, it's not easy to find a whole turkey in New Zealand, so a few paltry deli slices was the best we could muster. It was spring in the southern hemisphere and the snow had melted off a long time before. There were only about six of us, celebrating a familiar holiday far from home and I can assure you that it will be the only time that a sandwich meat nearly brings a tear to my eye.

This year will be more traditional, complete with turkey and dressing and cranberry sauce and family, though not my own. And even though Bigfork is about 2,000 miles from where I grew up and celebrated many Thanksgivings, I'll give thanks for being in Montana, my adopted home.

And I'll be wearing my knee brace, just in case.

-Alex Strickland