It’s good to get these silly myths out of your system early. That iconic image of an aging Native American warrior on a horse looking eastward, a single tear rolling down his cheek? Wrong. Based on 400+ year of a misapprehension.

Centuries of cultural war between Native Americans and European colonists were started entirely because the local New England tribes wore far, FAR too much make-up, big froofy earrings, and apparently died their hair in elaborate concentric circles. As staunch far-right religious conservatives kicked out of the country for being irritatingly non-British, the Puritan colonists were horrified (or secretly titillated) by their initial encounter with a tribe of shirtless, made-up men with large, full lips, and wrote up an extensive 200-year pogrom before the ink had dried on the Mayflower Compact.

It must be said, though –at the first Thanksgiving Dinner, Miantonomi’s turkey rissotto with cranberry and sweet wine remoulade was fabulous.

Little-known fact–members of the Haudenosaunee tribe traditionally adorned themselves with tattoos commemorating their first utterly failed hunt. This fellow was viciously trompled by a Great Dane, a particularly auspicious trompling.

Well, I thought it was a guy. I’m not sure, though, the pixie cut is kind of flattering, but looks more like a youngish Ellen Degeneres than any sort of noble savage. Those fake plaster indians, always breaking gender roles.

Goodwill on Parmer near I35, Austin

That reminds me, it’s time to clean out the fridge.

I’m not sure what’s for dinner tonight. Nothing served in a crockpot should be that bursting with life, unless it’s been sitting out for a few days. Even then, what the hell kind of cooking experiment coughs up mountain laurel? The mushrooms I can handle, they’re opportunistic. I’m sure that if I left a big bowlful of…something…out, it’d develop mushrooms after a while. But little tiny trees are beyond the pale. You have to have committed some major kitchen sins to end up with a heaping bowl of mountain laurel.

Not sure what the yellow pods are. They look armed and dangerous, a bit like something out of a low-budget sci-fi movie. I’m waiting for one of them to tense up, cough, and blow a seed across the aisle into the coffee mug section.

Traditionally, as a part of the Thanksgiving feast, the pawnbrokers would decorate a tree with fruits for the orphans. Of course, it was a very small tree. With very small fruits. But the deeply destitute should be thankful for the little things.

A lovely bouquet of dried corn cobs, a misplaced feather, and Brazilian pygmy oranges for the scamp on the crutches. There you go. Nail it all down to a bowl of Styrofoam and pretend the little nipper could get some nourishment out of it.

I’m guessing this is intended as a holiday bookend or plaque, but once the festive holiday rats have chewed through the outer layer of leaves and twigs to get to the tasty, tasty hot glue layer, it’s less visually appealing. If it was visually appealing before, we rather doubt it.
Savers on South Lamar, Austin

The main reason the puritans journeyed to the New World wasn’t to celebrate their religious freedoms in an open country, without fear. No, they were forced to leave because they were damned creepy.

Creepy, and frankly more than a little bit pungent. Looking beyond the fact that every single one of them wore the same bouffant hairstyle and crushed felt hat, it was the way, from the waist down, they were giant garlic cloves.

“Oh look, here come the garlic cloves,” the Wapanoag would say. “And they’re bringing turkeys. Again.”

“Did you mean they’re bringing turkey?”

“No, turkeys. Plural, and alive. Next time, we should ask them to bring the canned cranberry sauce.  At least that way there wouldn’t be so much garlic.”

Pull up a plate of leftovers, and see what tryptophan-induced hallucinations escaped from Savers this week!

Many many MANY years ago, when a boatload of religious separatists travelled over the ocean for 66 arduous days, braving starvation, an ugly voyage, icy temperature, and New York traffic, they probably weren’t expecting to end up on a shelf in Savers, particularly like…this.

Really, I can’t tell what he’s holding–is it a blunderbus or a peppermill? And doesn’t he totally look like an old Merrie Melodiescartoon? Like, a lesser-known one where the king of England is a wolf, and chases a boatload of sheep across the Atlantic ocean, where they team up with a bunch of Indians (turkeys, sadly, because of the feathers, you know. I don’t make these things up. Well, I do, but you can definitely see where I’m coming from.)

“Wait,” you say. “TV’s Jacob, that pilgrim isn’t a sheep!”

“That’s true. But it wouldn’t make sense to have a wolf chasing a bunch of anthropomorphic lumps of chewing gum, would it?”

“That’s true. Carry on.”

“Thank you, I will.”

“Splendid. Could you pass the turkey, please?”

“Certainly.”

“Let me make myself edible for you. I know…you wanted turkey, but you know what they say…what’s good for the goose, and all. Trust me, I can be all the turkey you want. If I wear this gourd on my head, you’ll say ‘That’s what’s for dinner. entrée vouz, oh yes.”

“This…this is the face of Thanksgiving. Twice as noble as a turkey. Three times. Heck, ten times, really, now much nobility does a turkey have? And what turkey can balance a gourd on his head for, like, three weeks? I can. Top that, Tom Turkey.

“Bring me your tired, your poor. Your cornbread stuffing, even your giblet gravy, I am ready for it. I am the bird of Autumn, and I am coming to your table. Stand back!”

The Tiniest Pilgrim from Savers on Burnet near 2222; Quisling Goose from Salvation Army near 620 on 183. Happy leftovers!

This was shelved with the Halloween stuff. Maaaybe it WAS Halloween stuff. But…I’m not going to even try to guess what strange haunted house it might be from–like a “last retail quarter House of TERROR. Which seems a little esoteric for a haunted house, but Black Friday’s pretty scary.

So, disembodied limb. Check, very traditional Halloween there. Cristmassy ribbon? Oooh…kay, sure. Maybe it’s meant to be hidden up in the sleeve, so that if you wave your limp, cottony mesh hand at someone and they squeeze it and get a big “surprise” that, wow, this isn’t a real hand, even though it has a convincing band of nearly flesh tone along one side…wait, where was that sentence going? Oh. The Christmassy ribbon will be hidden in your semi-convincing scarecrow-esque flannel sleeve.

So, yeah. That’s a possibility. Then we have to explain the weird “I love mom” tattoo the scarecrow has. Any takers?

Is it…

A hideous spider-turkey that spins webs, trapping innocent English peas in its cunning trap of deceit?

An indication that the turkey is SOOOO old that it’s got cobwebs?

A weird “Family Circus” cartoon where the Billy leaves a dotted line behind him, carrying him through the lair of Shelob the Spider Goddess, where he throws the One Corn into the fiery maw of the giant turkey?

Tattoo art from a biker that REALLY likes Autumn? So much that he tattoos Thanksgiving into his very flesh? I bet the other arm has “PAULA DEAN” embossed on it. There’s a yam-slinger, ooh.

So many options.

I’m really thinking this looks more like Raggedy Andy messing around with mom’s base and concealer. I’m just…not scared. Concerned, yes. But really, maybe we should move this out of Halloween and into, oh, home furnishings. Anything goes there, it’s crazy.

<I>Thrift Town, near Stassney and Manchaca, Austin</I>