Well, they ate it
Nov. 23rd, 2012 10:34 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
desperanceAt least, they ate some of most of it. Nobody ate the carrots, for the barely-adequate reason that I forgot to make the carrots (sliced and seethed in tarragon butter, since you ask). They were on the list and everything, but I stopped consulting the list after I put the spare brussels down on top of it. I am, um, not very good at list management.
Also I stopped blogging; you may or may not have noticed. The list beneath its brussels is right next to the laptop on the table, and there was no more sitting down after a while. There was stressful dashing about, mostly, intervened by wine. We did drink some very good wines (the last of which was the last of our wedding-gift bottles: thank you, Matt and Crystal!).
Also, Thanksgiving is apparently the Holiday of Falling Down. My mother-in-law fell on Saturday; I fell last night. Slipping on the steps down into the mud-room, since you ask: failing to take them in my stride, or something. I do like having a mud-room, but not so much when I end up nearly face-down in the cat litter. I have abiding ouchies, as one does after a fall. Nothing to see but a barked elbow, but ooh, my thigh...
Today, over the top of the Mountain of Washing Up lies, I suspect, the Hidden Valley of Leftovers. Though that too may be another mountain. M'wife is eating pecan pie for breakfast. Twice. The poor darling, she has to work today (her company is run by Englishmen, who do not by our nature understand Thanksgiving; they think Black Friday is a normal work day), but she is at least working from home. Marooned out in the clubhouse, manifesting occasionally for another slice of pie.
After I have done all the cleaning, I shall dismantle the turkey carcase and make stock. And take stock, and so forth. But that may be all the cooking that I do today.
(Would it upset anyone unduly if I murmured about how the in-laws spent most of yesterday afternoon out in the balmy sunshine in the yard, sipping wines and cigarettes and so forth? I didn't spend as much time with them as I'd have liked, on account of stress and kitchen duties and so forth, and alas not smoking any more, but hey. I now have a very fixed notion of Thanksgiving; I believe devoutly that all America was basking in the sunlight of a November Thursday.)
(Why is it Thursday, anyway? I can hardly think of a stranger day to hold a national holiday. Tuesday, perhaps, would be odder yet - but only just.)
Also I stopped blogging; you may or may not have noticed. The list beneath its brussels is right next to the laptop on the table, and there was no more sitting down after a while. There was stressful dashing about, mostly, intervened by wine. We did drink some very good wines (the last of which was the last of our wedding-gift bottles: thank you, Matt and Crystal!).
Also, Thanksgiving is apparently the Holiday of Falling Down. My mother-in-law fell on Saturday; I fell last night. Slipping on the steps down into the mud-room, since you ask: failing to take them in my stride, or something. I do like having a mud-room, but not so much when I end up nearly face-down in the cat litter. I have abiding ouchies, as one does after a fall. Nothing to see but a barked elbow, but ooh, my thigh...
Today, over the top of the Mountain of Washing Up lies, I suspect, the Hidden Valley of Leftovers. Though that too may be another mountain. M'wife is eating pecan pie for breakfast. Twice. The poor darling, she has to work today (her company is run by Englishmen, who do not by our nature understand Thanksgiving; they think Black Friday is a normal work day), but she is at least working from home. Marooned out in the clubhouse, manifesting occasionally for another slice of pie.
After I have done all the cleaning, I shall dismantle the turkey carcase and make stock. And take stock, and so forth. But that may be all the cooking that I do today.
(Would it upset anyone unduly if I murmured about how the in-laws spent most of yesterday afternoon out in the balmy sunshine in the yard, sipping wines and cigarettes and so forth? I didn't spend as much time with them as I'd have liked, on account of stress and kitchen duties and so forth, and alas not smoking any more, but hey. I now have a very fixed notion of Thanksgiving; I believe devoutly that all America was basking in the sunlight of a November Thursday.)
(Why is it Thursday, anyway? I can hardly think of a stranger day to hold a national holiday. Tuesday, perhaps, would be odder yet - but only just.)