Turkey & Dumplings

i'm not really a turkey guy. i'll eat it but, for me, turkey is a side dish at thanksgiving and dressing is the real star of the table. and the pecan pie. the turkeys were really cheap this year, though, so i bought a big one (21 lbs). it came out good, but then i had this huge carcass with plenty of meat still hanging to it that i was too lazy to bother with. so, i hacked it all up and put the carcass pieces into two stock pots and made a rick turkey broth with it. i also was able to pull plenty of meat off the bones (after they cooled) to add to the broth so i could make turkey & dumplings from Emeril's TV Dinners. this was a cheap cookbook because maddog gave it to me (i think she wound up with 2 in her possession, for some reason). i made two adjustments to emeril's recipe. first, obviously, i used turkey instead of chicken. the big alteration is that his recipe is called spicy chicken & dumplings because he adds jalepeno to the dumplings. i don't think this dish needs to be kicked up notches untold, so i left them out. what i like about this recipe is that you take some of the boiled aromatics (onions, celery, carrot) out of the pot after they become soft, mash them up, and add that to the dumpling dough (along with emeril's jalepenos, if you wish). oh, this is so good. a bit of work, yes, but so good. far better than the turkey on thanksgiving.

Snapshots: Academic Pursuits!

she was oblivious to the palpable thumping of every male heart in the ballroom as she strode across the floor.

"dr. charles! you look absolutely divine!"

foxy smiled at the dean of the anthropology department. "dr. dean, you're too kind. and the ballroom looks lovely! i'm so glad that we're hosting the annual conference this year. it's good publicity for the department and the school."

"dr. dean!"

the new voice was low, deep, and self-assured, and foxy found herself turning toward it the way a cobra obeys a snake charmer's flute.

"brett, my boy!" dr. dean reached out to embrace a tall young man with wavy, jet-black hair, steely grey eyes, and a noticeable scar running jaggedly from the outside corner of his left eye down toward the ear lobe. the scar enhanced rather than detracted from his primitive good looks; the broad shoulders and lean hips didn't hurt matters, either.

"dr. charles, allow me to introduce dr. brett cobalt. brett accompanied me to Papua New Guinea five years ago to help me study the wedding rituals of the aboriginal tribes there."

"enchanté," dr. cobalt bent to kiss foxy's hand but his eyes never left hers. "your work on immigrant influences on american culture is both fascinating and unprecedented."

despite being caught off-guard and more than a little breathless, foxy managed a winning smile and comeback. "but nowhere near as exciting as your recent research on the impact that illegal drug trading is having on south american farmers. very dangerous work, indeed!"

dr. cobalt ran a finger down his scar. "well, it certainly has its moments." he held out his hand. "shall we dance?"

"oh, we shall. we certainly shall!"

foxy's feet were as light as the butterflies in her stomach as the dashing dr. cobalt twirled her across the dance floor. she sensed the raw heat and strength that his body could barely contain. he was a man of action, yet also a distinguished scholar in her own field. he was her intellectual equal, but his physicality had no rival.

when the song ended, he noted, "you dance beautifully, dr. charles. would you join me for a glass of champagne?"

"i'd be delighted, dr. cobalt."

her knees weakened slightly as his hand gave hers a squeeze. she found a wall to lean against and compose herself while he walked off to find champagne. she smiled when he appeared again in front of her, a fluted glass of golden bubbles in each hand, when suddenly her arms were wrenched behind her!

"buenas noches, señor cobalt," a sinister voice behind her said.

cobalt's face hardened and his eyes gleamed like sharpened flint. foxy could sense the untamed animal inside him overtaking his scholarly veneer.

"let her go, carlos."

"why should i?" the sinister voice retorted. "your research exposed a very profitable operation for my family and caused my brother to be killed." foxy felt something cold against her face. "how is it you americans say? 'revenge is served with cold cuts?'"

foxy shook her head. "no, carlos. it's 'revenge is a dish best served cold.' it's very common for people who learn english as a second language to--"

"stop it! cierra la boca!"

cobalt took that moment to throw the champagne flutes at the sinister carlos, who took the bubbly full in the face as foxy, anticipating cobalt's move, threw herself to the side. cobalt rushed forward to grapple with the villain. they rolled back and forth across the floor, writhing and growling in a tangle of taught tendons and bloody, exposed flesh as each man had a hand on the knife and used it against the other alternatively. suddenly, carlos grinned and, releasing the knife, reached behind his back.

foxy screamed, "brett! he's got a gun!"

she saw the knife thrust down toward carlos' throat as the gun went off.

"NOOOOOOOOOOO!"

she rushed forward and knelt beside cobalt, rolling him off of the lifeless carlos.

"no, please...." the red froth at cobalt's mouth matched that at the wound in his chest, and she knew there was nothing anybody could do.

his flinty eyes softened as he looked into her face. he brought his fingers up to her lips. she kissed them gently and he brought them back down to his own lips as the light faded from his eyes and his chest stopped moving.

dr. dean dropped down and placed a comforting arm around her shoulder. "are you okay, dr. charles?"

she nodded. "i am unharmed, dr. dean. but poor brett..."

the dean nodded. "yes, a tragedy in every sense of the word. a brilliant mind who quite literally gave his life in pursuit of greater understanding. he's an example for all of us to follow, young and old. come, let us let the authorities tend to their duties."

"let me in. i'm a doctor!" a woman with a black medical bag knelt down opposite foxy and placed her fingers against cobalt's neck. "he's still alive. here, place this over the wound!"

foxy applied the plastic sheet to the gaping chest wound and held it in place while the doctor attached strips of tape to three sides of the patch, leaving the fourth side to open.

"that's to let the bad air out, but it won't allow any bad air in," the doctor informed her. sure enough, she saw the open side flap open as cobalt exhaled, and flatten against his skin as he inhaled again.

"is he going to live?"

the doctor rolled him over on his side. "yes, i think he will. he's strong and we got to it pretty fast. now, clear the way for the paramedics."

as foxy stood to get out of the way, she realized with a blush that she seemed to have ripped her bodice somehow...

Snapshots: Meanwhile...

she woke with a shudder, hoping the wail of terror she had let out in her nightmare did not carry over into the real world.

it didn't.

she lay still at her end of the cab, giving no sign that she was awake. the roar of the semi-truck's engine and wheels as they sped across some random state was oddly comforting, as was the deep voice of the giant truck driver singing along with the music from the speakers.

she pulled the trucker's green, woolly army blanket around her closer. she knew it was still summer, but her young body felt as if it would never be warm again.

her slight movement drew a glance from the trucker. "you okay over there, little girl?"

no, she wasn't. she'd never be okay again. but she was alive. "yes, sir."

"would you like to listen to some different music? rock, or country music?"

"no, sir. i've never heard these songs, but i like listening to you sing them."

there was a touch of tenderness in his voice as he replied, "you're older than your years, aren't you, little girl? most of those songs are older than me."

she listened to the song:

i see trees of green
red roses, too
i see 'em bloom
for me and for you
and i think to myself
what a wonderful world...

the words broke her heart and made her smile at the same time. her mother had loved flowers. the First Day of Spring was an official holiday in their family. their mother would take them out of school and they would drive around all day planting flower seeds in random places: parks, roadsides, even houses that had "For Sale" signs in the yard. donnie would play fetch with yorick while she and their mother would place the seeds in the soil and pour some water from a plastic milk jug over the soil. it was their tradition; she didn't know anybody else who did this.

she resolved then and there that she would carry on her mother's tradition every First Day of Spring, no matter where she was. this sudden decision about her future made her sit up. she had a future. this was the first time since that terrible day that she had thought about the future. it had all been about how to survive the current moment, or missing her family. she had something to look forward to, now. a purpose.

"sir, where are we?"

"missouri," he told her, then added, "and i told you not to call me 'sir."

"i'm sorry, sir." she giggled. "sorry! what do i call you, then?"

he hmph'd. "i have a niece about your age who calls me 'uncle mack.' you can call me that, if you like."

"uncle mack," she tried it out. "i like that. you look like an uncle, although i've never had an uncle before."

he glanced at her. "since we're on the subject of names, i can't really continue to call you 'little girl,' little girl. want to give me yours now?"

she shook her head. "i can't. i can't let him find me again."

"who, little girl?"

"the bad man." she shivered as she recalled his face, evil even when lying there motionless, covered in blood as she made her escape. she wished he were dead but knew he wasn't. she may be only 10 years old, but she knew that evil like that couldn't be killed. he'd come looking for her again. and for donnie. she prayed that he'd never find donnie. she knew she couldn't look for donnie because that might lead the bad man to him.

the worry lines in the trucker's forehead creased even deeper. she had captured his heart and soul when he spied her behind the truck stop cafe, crying as she held her sneakers under a water faucet, trying to scrub blood off. when he knelt down and offered to help, she threw herself into his arms and sobbed uncontrollably into his chest. he could tell that she was in trouble--bad trouble--but she wouldn't tell him what it was, nor who she was, nor where she lived. when he mentioned the police, she had screamed and tried to run away from him. he saw the pain and terror in her face and just couldn't let her run away, so he promised to take care of her and not call the police. he took her to a Wal-Mart to buy some clean clothes, then they came back to the cafe and ate pancakes. when she begged him to take her far, far away, he couldn't say no to her. he still didn't know what to do, but he would not abandon her.

"well, if you're not going to use your real name, i guess you need to pick a new one."

she perked up. "i get to pick my own name?"

he shrugged. "you'd look pretty silly being called 'little girl' when you're 50 years old, wouldn't you?"

she laughed. "yes, that would be very silly!"

"so, what's it going to be? bertha?"

"yuck, no!"

"thelma?"

"no way!"

"well, what do you want to be called?"

she put her finger to her chin, thinking hard. "this is an important decision, isn't it?"

mack nodded. "very important. you're going to hear this name for the rest of your life, so you'd better like it."

"hmmm." she thought about her promise to herself to continue her mother's tradition of planting flowers. "what about...lily?"

mack grinned and started to sing:

who's got eyes that sparkle like a lily sprinkled with dew?
lily belle.
who's got lips that's fresh as autumn rain when summer is through?
lily belle...

lily clapped her hands in delight.