Most of the medical bulletins that have been issued from Poverty Sink have been slanted to produce sympathy and comforting regards for the resident captive at 333 W. Ayers, which is of course “moi”, as Miss Piggy would say.  Sometimes I’m a tad embarrassed at my attitude, but Thanksgiving has taught me that I may be getting my just rewards.  I have become mistletoe on the tree of life and it beats working.

My favorite daughter and her daughter Taylor motored down from Azle for a three day pit stop, while my younger brother, Little Benny Wayne, and his lovely and talented bride, Deanna Jo Rogers, who grew up in Gorman, traveled the asphalt from the wilds of Houston to pay homage to a fallen comrade.  All I had to ante was an ability to crip around, look pitiful, and groan at appropriate times.

Bright and Early November 24, my house metamorphosed into a Keebler kitchen, as I sipped my coffee and observed all the culinary preparations for a feast that would make John Alden’s mouth water.

At this juncture in these festive preparations I Feel moved to suggest a trip to the side bar, like they say on the Perry Mason Show.  I’ve got something that may be relevant to this case that may not be widely known and since it is my nature to blab any fact of fiction to a case—brace yourselves!

It’s true that Deanna Rogers agreed to wed Little Benny Wayne back when Gorman was a little less civilized than today, but she put one condition on the ceremony that is not common knowledge.  It does howsomever make sense once you mull it around in your head.

She insisted that the marriage ceremony be performed in a rather unorthodox location.  Rings were swapped and vows were exchanged in the basement beneath the Gorman Railroad Depot.  Deanna’s claim that she married beneath her station is the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.

But, now to cut to the chase in the Quest for the Thanksgiving Turkey Sacrifice.  Fred Turner came bearing the carcass of a roly-poly Butterball turkey and Little Benny Wayne and his grandson Paul used that intermission to steal away from the action and journey down to the Leon River for a stroll from the Highway Bridge to the Railroad Bridge.  I opted to make my sojourn to my bedroom where I have constructed a pillow pyramid to elevate my knees to a point higher than the natural plane of the bed.  That is my amusement for several hours each day and being a creature of habit, I observe the ritual on a flexible timetable.

When I awoke the cooks were singing Thanksgiving songs and aromas from the sumptuous repast had attracted several canines and felines to the joyous site.

We all gorged, which is the custom over in Poverty Sink and I pronounced the blessing and gave thanks that no gifts are distributed at such a celebration.  All you’ve gotta do at such get-togethers is have an appetite and the ability to ingest prodigious amounts of food.

We all possessed that ability and we lauded the goodies prepared for our consumption by daughter Tracy, grand-daughter Taylor, Deanna Jo, Little Benny Wayne, Paul and Fred.

We agreed that once a year was often enough for such a festival, and no discouraging words were heard to distract from the boon time had by all.

That’s my story, and part of it is true.

Let me hear from you.

My phone number is 254-893-5063.

My postal address is 333 W. Ayers, De Leon TX 76444.

You can e-mail me at chupp@charleschupp.com.

By Charles Chupp, Copyright ©2008 Charles Chupp