Nothing But Love :: golf blogger

Thanksgiving Day Update

Thanksgiving Day feasts take a lot of planning. My plan started percolating to the surface of my cerebral cortex last night on the way to send a package by Federal Express, my favorite method of package delivery. You see, the only Krispy Kreme from here to Akron is located only several miles from the airport, where the Fed Ex late night pick-up place is located; and the unexpected trip to Krispy Kreme was an integral part of my plan.

The trip to Krispy Kreme was utter genius and struck a chord that would reverberate through the night and carry into Thanksgiving morning when I would follow package directions in reheating the original glazed doughnuts, reconstituting them to the perfect consistency, and which, together with a gingerbread latte that I, myself, make to perfection, would create an atmosphere in which I could carry out the balance of the plan.

J-dogg was all set to help deliver Thanksgiving dinner to needy inner-city families; so, I volunteered to get him up at 6:45 a.m. and get him off on his mission, allowing Stacey to sleep. That worked to my satisfaction and, better than that, to her satisfaction because that was of paramount importance to carry out this plan.

Let me digress briefly to tell you why this Thanksgiving is different. With J-dogg gone until mid-afternoon and Matt married off and going over the river and through the woods to the in-laws' house to be harangued about the outcome of the Steelers-Browns game and Mark in London with his relatives, I was the only person around to help make dinner, which included two 13-pound turkeys for the three of us (Don't ask me. Ask her.).

Upon getting downstairs, I started to make the latte and doughnut treat, while Stace started slicing celery and onions with the mandoline. We had 20 pounds of potatoes for mashed potatoes (Don't ask me. Ask her.), which I, as a part of the plan, would peel and cut up and put into the 800-quart stock pot to cook. I eschewed the regular potato peelers, electing instead to use my favorite knife because, above all at this point, timing was important; and it would have been impossible to cut myself with the potato peeler, if I found it necessary, which may convey to you the breadth of my commitment with regard to this matter. Stacey was working on the stuffing, and I would interrupt my prep work to get whatever she wanted so as to make her job easier.

Things were moving along well, or so I thought. I delayed some by making lazy calls to my mother and my cousin to wish them a happy day, which Stacey suggested that I do. Then she wanted me to help get the stuffing into the small roaster, but not before she made me feel the consistency of the stuffing. I complied, but was alarmed by the request for tactile assistance to determine that the stuffing was "perfect." I was not only alarmed, but frightened because this was not a foreseen development.

I was just finishing with the potatoes and wondering if drastic sacrificial measures were required when the inevitable occurred, "Go get the turkeys." These were the words that I dreaded because I was alone with Stacey and ... the turkeys. I brought them, the Butterballs, in homage to Stacey's departed mother, into the kitchen. I started to cut the yellow plastic netting off, and she said, "I'll do that." And I said -- and this was pure brilliance, "No, no, I'll do it," certainly going the extra mile to help. Close to gagging, I started to cut the plastic wrapping on the turkeys. At that point, Stacey volunteered, "I can do that."

So, I let her. She made me get a new bag for the garbage can, into which she put the plastic wrapping. I breathed a sigh of relief when she stuck her hand into the first bird and pulled out the bag of giblets. The plan had worked. I didn't have to use any invasive techniques and I didn't have to touch the turkeys because she put them into the large roaster.

I avoided touching the things for another year.

Posted by Bill at November 27, 2003 01:49 PM