Alabama was a lot of fun...I promise it was

Despite my frequent pokes and prods in my weekly column, directed at my husband, Jack, I really do love him -- and his kind, generous, gentle and lovable soul -- and I'm very thankful to have him as my husband.

Yes, I promise I do ... even if he is from Alabama.

In planning our holiday excursions a couple months ago, Jack and I decided we'd spend Christmas in New York this year -- a rarity -- and we'd spend Thanksgiving -- as usual -- in Alabama.

So last Thursday morning, Jack, Lizzie and I headed to Alabama, along with a Cajun deep fried turkey. Jack's brother, Johnny, had organized Thanksgiving dinner, which we would eat at my mother-in-law's home. Johnny asked us to supply the turkey, so we ordered one from Mike's Catfish House in Murfreesboro. Mike's deep fried turkeys are simple and tasty, and we've ordered them many times in the past. They don't require hours of labor; all it requires is "heat and serve."

We had a great time in Alabama, cold turkey and all.

When we arrived, we were apparently late (no one told me what time dinner was, despite my numerous attempts to find out) so Jack's starving family was eagerly waiting for us when we rolled in an hour late. All of the food was ready when we walked in the door, but since the turkey was supposed to be reheated, I insisted we put it in the oven. I don't think that made the in-laws too happy, but who eats cold turkey, right?

So Jack put the turkey in the oven and 45 minutes later announces that "someone" (we still haven't figured out who) forgot to turn the oven on. At that point, no one except me cared about hot turkey, so they all ate it cold and I made my way to the microwave.

What's better than a nice nap after a huge feast? Speaking of naps, I tried to get a lot of sleep over the holiday.

We had a great time in Alabama, late night concerts and all.

Last week, before we left for Alabama, Jack had just returned from an extensive work trip to Louisiana, so we still hadn't adjusted to sharing a bed upon our arrival at his brother's house, down the road from my mother-in-law's, where we'd be sleeping. It always takes us time to adjust to sharing a bed after he's been on a long trip. He'll tell you I'm an aggressive bed hog and I'll tell you he snores.

To make matters worse, around bedtime, Johnny's wife and son, Tracy and Johnna, decided to practice for the Alabama symphony. Tracy plays the clarinet and Johnna is learning how to play the trumpet. Jack may have been pulling out his hair over this, but I was amused by the whole ordeal ... only here, I thought.

Jack eventually found the humor in it, too, and went downstairs to tell his 13-year-old nephew if he wanted to attract girls he'd better put the horn away and stick to the guitar. Interesting strategy to get us some peace and quiet, I thought.

We had a great time in Alabama, guard dogs and all.

My wish for a guard dog in last week's column must have been heard, because in Alabama, at Johnny's secluded home on a mountain, there were plenty.

Johnny, who only allows Lizzie in his house so he can see his brother, has several stray -- some quite scary -- dogs that have been dropped off at his house over the years. There's always a new addition to the pack every time we visit, and this time, we met the pit bull.

So, despite having all the protection from the forces of evil that I wished for last week, every time Lizzie had to take care of her business, I had to literally pick her up, hide her from the other dogs, and drive her to a secret remote location. What a fun chore to look forward to upon waking up at 6 a.m., after trying to sleep through symphony practice all night.

Believe it or not, despite the cold turkey, the evening concerts, the guard dogs -- and all the other the stresses that make the holidays the holidays -- we really did have a great time in Alabama.

Yes, I promise we did ... even if it was Alabama.

P.S. I promised to let Jack publish his full review of our trip to see my family in New York, in the Times-Gazette, after Christmas.

-- Sadie Fowler is a staff writer for the Times-Gazette. She can be reached at (931) 684-1200, ext. 214, or by e-mail at sfowler@t-g.com. This column is scheduled to print every Thursday.