One of my favorite Thanksgiving dinners when I was growing up wasnt even turkey; it was pizza. We were supposed to go to my aunts house for dinner, but my sister and I woke with colds, so we couldnt go. This was before grocery stores were open 24 hours, so my mother had to feed us the only food we had in the house: a frozen pizza. She was upset, but for my sister and I, there was something gloriously naughty about not having turkey for Thanksgiving. Between coughing and sneezing, we enjoyed our rebellious pizza and couldnt wait to tell our friends about it.

At another Thanksgiving, I walked into the kitchen to help my mother serve the turkey and we both saw the possible disaster at the same time: the cat on the kitchen counter next to the turkey. I will never forget the sight of my mothers horrified face as we listened to the guests in the next room blissfully unaware of the turkeyless possibilities. There was a long pause as she weighed her options. My mother swore me to secrecy and we served the turkey. She never told anyone else why she threw half of it away. She told me that was just a precaution, because as she slowly explained, she didnt really think the cat had actually touched the turkey but she didnt want anyone to eat something that had cat breath on it. (Uh oh, you wont tell my relatives will you? Ill have to tell everyone thats ever eaten at my house that they cant read this article.)

Another favorite Thanksgiving of mine was the first one that my husband cooked when we were newlyweds. My husband had proudly decided that he would cook the turkey. He was excited about doing it until he realized that in order for us to eat at lunch time he would have to get up at 5:30 AM to put the turkey in. And he didnt realize that hed have to put his hand into the turkey to get the giblets out. I didnt realize he was so squeamish. He complained so loudly the next morning that I wordlessly crawled out of bed, ripped the giblets out of the turkey, and with a disgusted look, I dared him to wake me up again.

That was also the Thanksgiving that we learned our most important lesson about using a food processor never, never try to make mashed potatoes in one. The lady on the other end of the food processor hotline that we frantically dialed was very kind and sympathetic. I bet shed been getting those calls all day. Unfortunately, food processors take the air out of mashed potatoes. Imagine the opposite of light, fluffy potatoes- thats what we had. It was like mashed potato glue. Thank goodness for a box of instant mashed potatoes.

Mens need to carve turkeys always amuses me. Did you ever notice that men can lounge all day in front of the television doing nothing to help with dinner, but they spring to action when the turkey is set on the table. Suddenly the women who have been cutting, chopping and peeling for hours (sometimes days) cant be trusted to hold sharp objects. Only men can carve the sacred bird.

Every year on Thanksgiving, I consider cooking something different: maybe ham or roastbeef, but I cant quite bring myself to change the tradition. But I always make sure to have a frozen pizza just in case. Happy Thanksgiving!