Thanksgiving falls so late this year, it’s like two dinner guests turning up at the same time who shouldn’t, making things awkward. Neighbors were out putting up lights before Thanksgiving even started, and I found myself doing the same.
The landscaping crew was here, strategizing how to tackle each area of the yard, speaking in stern tones as if a military campaign. Torch this, torch that…cover that with visqueen, burn it out.
I got out the manger scene and asked Charlotte if she knew who the baby was, and she did. I placed the wise men and the camel and the others at the right angle so their eyes all looked like they were focused on the center, on the baby. It always brings out the vandal in me, a dark need to corrupt the scene by swapping out the baby with something irreverent, like Yoda.
We sit on the couch in the morning with bed head and Lily picks the glitter out of my beard, like a family of baboons.
I hold the raw turkey heart out at Lily and say look, that’s the heart: then toss it with the vegetables in the bottom of the pan. The turkey has been air-drying in the fridge longer than it should because I jumped the gun with the whole brine setup.
It fills the house with the scent of roasted vegetables, pan drippings, butter. The setup is always better than the delivery. We stuff the carcass in a bag in the fridge and I’ll cook it down this afternoon.