I'm taking a break after making the Cranberry Sauce and Herbed Stuffing. Next? The brine. Then we, meaning I, pick up the fresh turkey and start the brining. Later this evening? The Spiced Pumpkin Pie and the Orleans Sweet-Potato Pecan Pie.
Tomorrow morning? Stage 1 of the gravy-making. Tablecloth-ironing and silver polishing will ensue. This stuff gets delegated to my mother in law or anyone else who will do it and is old enough. John will put the leaves in the table and be the brinemaster. The boys will play and run around. Zane will look endlessly for tasty bits on the floor. Kato the cat will torture Zane by sitting six feet beyond the pet gate and looking pleased with himself. Finally I'll be making the gravy at the very end and ordering everyone the heck out of the kitchen. We'll eat the meal in no time flat, but cleanup will take two hours.
My brother isn't coming, but he wanted to. His girlfriend wasn't granted custody of her children for this holiday and she's sad, and she thinks she would be more sad spending the holiday with us than if they spent it alone, at the Shore.
My Dad will be here, eating way more than he should and watching everyone else do the work. He has again broken up with his lady friend who I love so much. Since she moved to Seattle, it makes sense, but he didn't have to do it so harshly. It must be hard, after being married for decades in an "old-school" marriage, to negotiate the difficult terrain of courtship, or dating, or romance, whatever you call it--with someone who has grown children and who has seen enough in her two marriages to know she doesn't want another husband.
Jack has a tooth, an upper incisor, that is crooked and sticking out. Right behind it you can see the new tooth shoving the front one out. I want to pull this tooth out so bad. So bad.
Happy Thanksgiving to the world, in all its brokenness and incompleteness.