You know what's really cool? The way that the Internet lets you track down relatives that you never even knew existed. Take me, for instance. Last month, I searched on Mom's maiden name: McQuiggle. (Now, would I make up a name like McQuiggle?). Within milliseconds, four McQuiggles showed up on my screen: Two in Japan, one in Turkey, and one in California.

Impressed with my own detective work, I e-mailed the McQuiggles to find out if and how we might be related. Much to my delight, I received four responses.

The e-mail from Turkey said:

asdflkj;#Wj09=u53qjsafd!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

ZZZZsfalj; ksaeopilk qwer eiew jfdsa.

safdsfda,

fsdkj

The two from Japan came with instructions:

To receive messages in Japanese, your PC must download and install our proprietary software package. You must then download and install the latest version of our proprietary browser. Next, download and install our latest proprietary browser upgrades. If you encounter an error, we will be happy to ship you our proprietary modem. Estimated time for the entire download and installation process (minus the modem) is seven hours. Have a major credit card ready, and have a nice day.

Yikes! I'll let Mom deal with those.

Then I opened the e-mail from California:

Hello Long Lost Cousin,

Yes, we really are cousins. Your Mom and my Dad are second cousins, so that would make us..... ummm....related somehow. Anyway, I'm 18 years old and I'm leaving for college in a few days. I'll be in your area of the world. I'm moving to the East Coast of the U.S. Maybe we can meet sometime?

Your new cousin of sorts,

Zak

Hooray! Zak's future school was only a 40-minute drive from my home!

As soon as Zak settled into his new routine, he and I began to correspond regularly. Well, as regularly as it gets with a teenager (oops - young adult. Sorry, Zak). Zak wrote most of his e-mails at four o'clock in the morning. I envisioned my cousin with eyes at half-mast, hair pointed in all directions and pizza stains under his fingernails. In other words, he looked just like me.

He seemed like a good kid and I enjoyed reliving the college experience through him. He told me about the agonies of getting closed out of the classes he wanted to take, the joys of frat parties (please please don't tell my Mom!!!), and the weird roommate who spent hours chanting in a corner.

In turn, I taught him about the joys of adulthood. You know, like that great feeling you get when the boss publicly humiliates you, the delights of telling the phone company that you did so pay them last month, and the pleasures of taking your car to the shop four times in one week.

Zak's October mid-term exams put him into a state of panic. During that period, he answered all my e-mails the same way:

Hi --

Gotta study.

Zak

Then, in November, two days before the Thanksgiving holiday, Zak sent me this message:

Dear Favorite Cousin,

Guess what. I forgot to make airline reservations for Thanksgiving, and now Mom says it's too expensive for me to fly home. My roommate isn't going home either. Nothing is too expensive for him, but he's from some other country where they never heard of Thanksgiving or bean casserole. Isn't that strange? Maybe he's making that up. So, do you think we could come to your condo for four days? We'll bring our own blankets and pillows. And he's got a car. Except he's got this incense thing going so we might smell a little when we get there. You might want to keep your windows open or spray some Lysol or something.

Love,

Your favorite cousin,

Zak

Lucky for Zak, I didn't have any plans to go away for the holidays.

Unlucky for me, I never hosted a Thanksgiving dinner before. For that matter, I never cooked a turkey, never made stuffing, and had no idea in the universe what a bean casserole even looked like. Not to mention that I kept a refrigerator stocked with nothing and a pantry stocked with even less. How could I possibly feed two college-aged boys for four days?

Yikes!!!

Dear Zak,

Sure, I'd love to see you and the roommate! I'm attaching a map and driving directions. Please be sure to park in one of the spots labeled Guest Parking. You'll see the sign at the far end of the parking lot. Sorry, you'll have to carry your luggage a ways. No need to bring blankets, pillows, etc, I've got a guest bedroom and the living room has a pullout sofa bed. Just buzz my unit when you get here - I'm on the fourth floor.

Send my love to your family!

YIKES!!!

Any American will tell you - NEVER GO GROCERY SHOPPING THE DAY BEFORE THANKSGIVING. That's because every American goes grocery shopping the day before Thanksgiving. Traffic was so bad that I couldn't even get my car into the grocery store parking lot. Fortunately, I'm only a ten-minute walk from the store, and it's all downhill. Unfortunately, I needed so much food that I had to take seven trips back and forth until I felt satisfied. And going from the store to my condo is all uphill.

But that wasn't the end of the holiday preparations. CLEANING!!! I'm sure that the boys didn't really care, but if word somehow got back to Mom (and you know it would) that somebody found a speck of dust or a thread on the floor or...

No, no, it was too ugly to contemplate. Who needs sleep anyway?

And so, the great day came. Every time I heard (or pretended to hear) a noise in the condo parking lot, I would race out onto my balcony to greet...

the empty parking lot.

Finally, about an hour and twenty minutes after their estimated arrival, I heard a car pull up and a door slam. I tried not to jump up and down (the neighbors already have enough to say about me), so I just grinned and stood out on the balcony and watched.

A tall, dark kid yawned and stretched beside the rear of the car.

I smiled.

Then I squinted.

Then I frowned.

Granted he was a distance away, but he sure didn't look very McQuiggle-like. Too thin. Too dark. Too handsome.

The car's back door burst opened and a second youth appeared. This guy was smaller, blonder, and wider. Now there's a McQuiggle. So this other kid must be his roommate, the chanter, the incense lover, the....

The...

The son of a George.

Thank God, thank God I had been hanging onto the balcony, because otherwise the neighbors would have had something else to talk about. Thank God, too, that I bit my tongue instead of screaming like a banshee.

My cousin's roommate was Dhani Harrison. Dhani Harrison was coming to have Thanksgiving dinner at my house. Dhani Harrison was going to choke down my very first attempt at cooking a turkey. Dhani Harrison, the son of a die-hard vegetarian was.....

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!

Without conscious thought, I flew into the condo, pulled the roasting turkey out of my oven, and ran down four flights of stairs.

"SURPRISE!!!" I yelled to the condo concierge as I dumped the steaming turkey in front of him.

I turned and ran back to my apartment. "Okay, okay, we can do this!" I encouraged myself. I pulled out one of those tin roasters that you use in emergencies, loaded it with veggies, water, and spices, and popped it into the oven. It didn't look right, so I tore a hunk of tofu out of its wrapping and threw the whole shebang into my concoction as well.

"Be delicious," I commanded it as I slammed the oven door shut.

Then I turned and raced out onto the balcony again. The two boys were busy fussing over something in the trunk.

Good, good, I thought. Now I can sit down and relax and....

I took a look at my living room walls. They were covered in Beatles posters.

ARRRRRHGGGGGG!!!!!!!!!!!! What would Dhani have to say about this? I didn't want to know.

Yikes! I've just invented a new Olympic sport, I thought wildly as I dashed around the living room, leapt over furniture, and grabbed seven framed Beatle posters off the walls. Good, that's done. Now, what do I do with these things?

"Under the bed, Under the bed!!!" I cried.

Phew.

No, not phew. Now I had seven spikes sticking out of my living room walls. Where could I possibly find seven more pictures in 10 seconds? I couldn't. So, I settled for second best. Kitchenware.

That's right folks. Here's a tip for you. If you ever have an emergency like this in your home, just head for the kitchen and pull out every skillet and every barbecue utensil that's got a hole in it and hang them on your living room walls. Then square your shoulders, look people in the eye, and dare them to criticize your artwork.

Okay, the living room is set. What about...

The guest room! Yikes! My Beatle library is in plain view!!! What should I do?

You know, the last time I moved my Beatle library from one bedroom to the next, it took approximately 14 trips. Not an option this time. Without even hesitating, I picked up the entire bookcase and carried it over to the closet.

Oops. Bet you didn't know I keep a piano in that closet.

Yes folks, I have the smallest two-bedroom condo in North America, but I still manage to own two pianos. And both instruments live in the guestroom. The acoustic stays in the bedroom proper, and the electric lives in the closet (so if you ever hear anybody teasing me about being a closet musician, you'll get the joke).

Twice in my life, I had to move the electric piano by myself. So, I know that I can do it, but it's quite the production. The piano weighs eighty pounds, it doesn't have wheels, and my carpet is textured. Today, none of those things mattered. Superwoman simply yanked the thing out of the closet, threw it over a hip, and carried it across the room where the bookshelf used to live. There. Now I've got two pianos side by side in my guestroom. Deal with it. I shoved the Beatle bookcase into the closet, and locked the doors.

Then I unlocked the doors. 'Cause I remembered my CDs.

Dashing into the master bedroom, I picked up 168 CDs in one shot. After flinging a piano over my hip, this was easy.

As me and the CDs headed towards the guestroom, I glanced over at my display cabinet in the living room. ARRHHGH!! "What should I do about that? Back in a minute," I promised the cabinet.

Before entering the guestroom, I turned in my tracks and hurried out onto the balcony. Time to check on the boys. What were they doing? Arguing. Hooray! Keep arguing, boys. What was I doing? Running outside with 168 CDs in my hands!!!

"Hi, Mrs. Berkowitz," I winced.

My neighbor's jaw dropped, but I didn't have time to worry about it.

I dashed back into the guest bedroom, unloaded the CDs into the closet, and locked the door. Then I took a deep breath, took one second to compose myself, and marched into the living room.

From inside my glass display cabinet, four breakable, collectible, irreplaceable Beatle mugs winked at me. "Oh God."

I threw open the cabinet door and grabbed Paul. Race walking across the condo, I entered the master bedroom and looked around. Under the bed? No, no room on account of the posters. In the closet? No, not the closet, that's where I threw everything else I wanted to hide from my guests, such as the mounds of paperwork, the dirty laundry, and ....well... I don't have to tell you everything!!!

There! Quickly (and carefully!) I opened my underwear drawer and popped Paul inside. "Enjoy yourself, Paul."

Next, I hid George with my pajamas, Ringo with my sweaters, and John with my socks. "Sorry, John. You can have the undies next time."

"Okay, everything is go in the bedroom."

That's when I tripped over my Beatle record collection.

"Yikes!"

Where do you hide records when you're out of closet space?

"Thank you, God, for giving this condo two bathrooms!!!!!!!" I deposited the records into my bathtub.

Last time out on the balcony (Now both Mrs. Berkowitz and Mrs. Radnor were staring at me). "Hello ladies."

And what were the boys doing? Slamming the trunk and picking up their luggage.

Time for one more quick check. Guest bedroom is clear. Living room is okay. (Mommy, I LOVE you for talking me out of the Beatle wallpaper!!!!!!!!) Kitchen is....right, we'll just hide the Beatle salt shakers, Beatle oven mitts, and Beatle refrigerator magnets under the bathroom sink. Master bedroom is clear, living room is still clear, guest bedroom is perfect, except...

Oh look what's on the bed. How would Dhani feel about sleeping with a George doll?

The buzzer was ringing.

Yikes!!!!

George and I zipped down the hallway and I buzzed them in. Then I darted around the condo, frantically trying to find a place for poor George.

When I heard voices approaching my door, I knew I had to do something desperate.

"Forgive me, George," I whispered, as I shoved the doll into the depths of my freezer.

Then I took a deep breath and headed for the front door.

"Stay calm, stay calm, try to act like an adult."

I took another breath.

"He's just a kid. He's just your cousin's roommate. You can handle this."

I waited to hear the knock before I opened the door.

"Hi Zak," I smiled. "And you must be the roommate."

The boys grinned, dropped their luggage in my hallway, and offered me their hands. In the meantime, my trusty front door slammed shut with a force that registered 5.7 on the Richter scale.

I cringed, knowing that any minute, my answering machine would fill up with complaints from Mrs. Cramer, Mrs. Feldman, the condo maintenance man (I have no idea why he gets involved in this stuff), and the building management company. Another lesson for my cousin in the joys of adulthood.

"Hey, that's great. You brought a guitar," I said to Dhani.

He smiled. "Actually, it's my Dad's."

Knees, I command you to stop quaking!!!

"Oh, is it okay if my Dad uses your phone?"

"Blurrpppasdlkj??" What's wrong with you????? George Harrison is coming to your house and all you can say is Blurrpppasdlkj!!

Dhani puckered his brow. "Sorry?"

"Ah, yeah, sure." (Cool, I didn't know my voice went that high!)

"Hey, where is your Dad?" Zak asked. "Didn't he come up here with us?"

"I'm out here," said an amused voice.

Oh goodie, I slammed the door on George Harrison. What else can I do to impress the man?

Dhani turned, opened the door, and let his Dad in.

I pried my fingernails out of my palm so I could shake Daddy Harrison's hand. "The phone's right here in the kitchen," I squeaked.

George picked up the phone, then stopped mid-stream. "Sorry to bother you," he said. "I was supposed to stay at this hotel and they lost my reservation so..."

"I've got room," I squeaked.

"That's lovely, but I wouldn't want to inconvenience you."

"Oh, I insist." Please please please inconvenience me!!!!!!!!!

"Well, all right then," he grinned as he replaced the phone.

My face did something in response. I hope it was a smile, but I'm not sure. Anyway, it didn't matter because George was nodding at me.

"We're still fab, you know."

I blinked at him. Then I felt my ears do a slow burn as I looked down at my sweatshirt. It bore the words "When we was fab" in oversized type. Below the words was a larger than life George head.

YIKES!!!!!

It can't get any more embarrassing than this!

Behind George, a wisp of black smoke snaked its way out of the oven.

I pulled George out of the kitchen, shoved him and the two boys ahead of me and down the hallway, then grabbed all the suitcases and the guitar. "Let me show you to your rooms."

George glanced over his shoulder. "You're a strong lady."

"You have no idea," I smiled.

Please God, don't let the fire alarm go off.

"Dueling pianos!" George exclaimed. "Good thing I brought my guitar. Do you sing as well?"

"Sure," I bluffed. "You won't believe what I sound like some days."

He smiled. "That's good, because I'm looking for some new talent."

Oh, I'm talented, all right.

YIIIIIIIIIIIIKKKKKKKKKKEEEEEEEEEEEEEEESSSSSSSSSSSSS!!!!!!!!

Lisha Goldberg is a Technical Writer/Website Developer for a Massachusetts-based insurance company. She also writes a newsletter for a Boston piano studio. Lisha has won several prizes for her writing, including the Boston Herald Star Trek Competition (write a eulogy for Captain Kirk!), CompuServe's Beatle Essay Contest, and Writers Digest Magazine Award for best Inspirational Short Story.