Tuesday, November 26, 2013

Gobble-dy Cluck

It started with a table. We have a beautiful table. Old. Really old. Long, wide, big planks, beautifully restored. Surrounded by some lovely Windsor chairs.

After a few years of living in small apartments, finding creative ways to pack everything I need in as little space as possible, I may have gotten carried away. We have a dining room. (I had a counter in my last apartment.) We have a driveway and a deck and a yard and a second bathroom. The ultimate luxury on a busy morning.

I may have gotten a little overconfident as we arranged furniture and realized we needed (still need) to do some stocking up in the curtains/rug department. I started saying things like “We should have people over for dinner.” And “Let’s have a cookout.” Drunk on something- (Fresh air from our backyard? Silver polish fumes? The glory of being able to walk more than 3 steps without hitting a wall?) I declared “We should host Thanksgiving. Let’s having Thanksgiving here.” And that’s how it happened.

All summer, all through September I kept telling people, inviting people. At some point in October, about the time they start stocking the Christmas section at Target, I started to get a little uncomfortable. I only have 8 dinner plates. I don’t own a tablecloth. Or a gravy boat. Or an ironing board. I have never roasted a whole chicken much less a turkey. (I mean, why would you? Rotisserie chickens are $6 already cooked and they are so juicy!) I haven’t made biscuits lately, but I have vivid memories of one failed biscuit attempt in which something (baking soda? Baking powder?) was forgotten and I baked some lovely golden crackers. It’s not that I don’t like to cook or want to cook, I’m just happy to let those more competent, capable, and possessing the correct equipment to do so.

But, here we are. It’s Sunday Tuesday. The yard is raked (give that 24 hours and you’ll never be able to tell it happened.) The bathrooms have been cleaned, the house dusted, and there’s 20 pounds of poultry thawing in the fridge. I’ve borrowed plates and tablecloths and napkins from my mother. Now I just need an ironing board and a turkey baster and we're in business.

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