Thanksgiving

This year I was responsible for the turkey. I don't recall ever having fixed a turkey before, so I went online and found a "fool-proof" recipe from my long-time nemesis, Martha Stewart. It called for putting a cheesecloth dampened with butter and wine over the breast of the turkey to keep it moist.

This I did, with a dishtowel substituting for the cheesecloth. Over the course of three hours, I dumped a whole bottle of white wine on the turkey. When it was done, I pulled all the meat off the carcass and nibbled on it some and it seemed quite moist. However, I think the wine in the recipe was just to make one feel sophistocated. I suspect butter would have done the job better.

I have enough leftovers to choke a horse, with little appetite to consume them.

Aunt Olla came out from the Fertile Hilton for the festivities. She had been looking forward to seeing me carve the turkey, so when I informed her that I had already picked the carcass clean, she was a bit disappointed. "I guess I'll survive," she eventually admitted.

After the meal, Olla insisted, "we have to have a program." We were all dead tired, but Joe and I played a little music. Olla is indefatigable. No family gathering is complete without a program.

Olla has the same program gene as her brother, my grandfather. When Grandpa was in the nursing home and no longer felt like joining the family gathering for Thanksgiving, he would call to dictate which table grace we were to use.

Yesterday, we drove down to Aunt Pam's house for a second round. An opulent meal. A chance to visit with cousins Laine and Ben and their partners Desi and Kristin, as well as Aunt Pam and her sister Aunt MaryAnn.