For fifty years, the name Greenberg and Thanksgiving occupied the same breath.

If you are not familiar with the former, let me explain. The Greenberg family owns a small plant in Tyler, Texas, that specializes in one product. Smoked turkeys.

When I was a teenager, my mother discovered them and decided to try them. They were the best turkey I or anyone who ate them had tried. That sealed it. Each year, my mother ordered her Greenberg turkey, delivered to the door the week of Thanksgiving. We ate white meat and gnawed on turkey legs for days.

When Vickie and I married, we tried other turkeys, including a terribly failed personal attempt at smoking my own. We kept going back to Greenberg. When my daughter and her husband moved to North Carolina, we shipped them a turkey.

Thanksgiving is not the same without Greenberg turkey. And this year, we ordered our turkey at the end of October.

Then, I got the letter. On November 6, an explosion rocked the turkey plant destroying all the turkeys and shipping capacity. It looked bleak.

After a momentary panic, sanity set in. What would we do? My wife did an internet search and found a local store stocked a small inventory. Within an hour, I was on the road and rolled out with two turkeys.

The week reminded me of one of my favorite sayings.

Blessed are the flexible, for they shall never be bent out of shape.

As we have seen in the last 9 months, life is not as predictable as we would like. Instead, we take the day we have, use it well, and start again. When things go wrong, you find another way.