Era el día de Thanksgiving y Grama Cuca was en la cocina preparando el stuffing for the turkey. Canutito was kneeling on a chair next to her, leaning en la mesa and watching as she mixed todas las ingredients together. Primero grama fried un poco de pork sausage with onion y luego she added celery, raisins, piñón and dried bread crumbs and mixed them todos juntos con turkey broth. Canutito just smacked his lips.

"El stuffing es mi parte favorita del día de Thanksgiving," he stated emphatically.

"I like it too," Grama Cuca replied. "Pero a mi me gusta el stuffing more whenever I add el turkey liver y los gizzards pero a tu grampo no le gusta when I do that."

Just then Grampo Caralampio came into the kitchen con el periódico in his hand. He shook the newspaper and sat down at the table también. "It says aquí," he began, "que se murió el Marcel Marceau."

"Who was Marcel Marceau and when did he die?" Canutito asked him.

"El Marcel Marceau era un French mime," grampo replied. "He would hacer un show without saying anything. He nomás would pintarse la cara toda white and pretend to be doing algo on stage pero con sus acciones he could make you visualize them."

"¿Qué clases de acciones would he do on stage, grampo?" the little boy asked. "Primero he would pretend to lean en una cómoda that wasn't there or maybe he would pretend to be trapped en una caja."

"What would he do cuando estaba in a make-believe box, grampo?" Canutito asked him.

"He would pretend to try to get out of it, m'hijo," grampo replied.

"You don't suppose que he is now in his coffin pretending to get out of it? the little boy asked innocently. Grampo Caralampio laughed at the very thought pero Grama Cuca didn't think it was nada fone.

"You shouldn't make fun de los muertos!" she snapped at grampo and Canutito. Pero Grampo Caralampio thought he'd have a little bit more fun at the expense of the dead. "I thought que maybe we should tener un moment of silence pa'l French mime," he said. Canutito started laughing at the very idea de tener un momento de silencio for Marcel Marceau pero Grama Cuca just threw her manos up toward the sky and continued stuffing el ganso. She was stuffing el ganso with a lot of force.

"What are you thinking of mientras que you are stuffing el ganso, grama?" Canutito asked her.

"I am practicing my miming skills como el Marcel Marceau," grama replied. "Yo estoy visualizing que this turkey is your grampo y que I am stuffing todo este relleno up his — I mean down — his throat." She continued shoving fistfuls of stuffing into el cavity del ganso.

"¡Bah, Cuca!" Grampo Caralampio exclaimed. "I was just having un poquito de fon."

"Why don't you help me pelar some papas instead of doing nothing?" Grama Cuca asked, con un touch of impatience en su voz.

Grampo Caralampio just sat allí en la mesa and pretended to be peeling potatoes and cutting himself con un make-believe kitchen knife. Canutito laughed at las atrocidades de su grampo pero Grama Cuca was not at all amused. After a couple of horas, la cocina was filled with wonderful smells of roast turkey con stuffing y mashed potatoes. Grampo Caralampio came into the kitchen a comer pero he found de que there was nothing en la mesa.

"Where's all the comida, Cuca?" he asked rubbing his panza.

"Aquí está," Grama Cuca replied as she pretended to carve into a make-believe ganso y servir make-believe mashed potatoes.

¿Quieres white meat o dark?" she snickered.

Ahora it was Grampo Caralampio who no estaba amused ...

¿Le gustaría compartir sus propias anécdotas o comentar con Torres sobre esta columna? Envíele un correo electrónico a lartor@unm.edu.