Thanksgiving 2011

Thanksgiving weekend knocked me flat. I'm still recovering.

The actual day? That was wonderful. I did so much cooking on Wednesday that I found myself oddly at loose ends on Thursday midday. I showered, leisurely. I fiddled with the table, which we'd set the night before. It was lovely. There was the inevitable chaos when the hour to eat approached and we attempted to figure out how to keep ten different things hot when our oven will only hold two things at once. The answer? Have another glass of champagne and accept the reality of lukewarm side dishes.

{the table, set}

{rolls rising}

{sage}

{setting up}

{waiting}

{the meal}

We had a cobbled together table to seat twelve, family, good food and lots of chatter. The heirloom lace tablecloth was spotted with cranberry sauce and candle wax. I like to think that the ancestor who painstakingly crocheted it would appreciate that. The use it gets, the love it sees. Things are for using. Period. (And for carefully laundering and mending post use, of course - boiling water takes cranberry stains right out. A quick freeze lets you pop the wax off easily).

{the aftermath, dining room}

{the next morning}

{the aftermath, kitchen}

Post-Thanksgiving, when I prefer to be napping and eating leftover turkey sandwiches, simply refused to cooperate. Unexpected, urgent chores popped up. We were in bed late and up early every day. Our car suddenly developed an unnerving tendency to stall for no apparent reason, and the actual reason ended up being two unrelated problems, one of which was the alternator (ouch), so we were at the shop twice over the course of one day. I've never been so grateful that I've been going to the same mechanic since I learned to drive. Even if he does make me watch a slideshow of process photos after every service visit.

Even in the chaos there are so many things to be grateful for - a family (and a mechanic) who loves you, a bounty of leftover cheese and crackers, a husband (!) who will push a stalled car through a left turn at an intersection with you, a wiry fox terrier who trustingly allows you to groom her unruly fur and doesn't even try to bite you once. I don't have photos of those things, but they exist.