For the second time in four days, I find myself in a full-on, bloated-belly, carb-overload, turkey coma. We had folks over for a second Thanksgiving dinner that couldn't be beat, and now the house is dark and quiet, and my aching feet are up, and all I want to do is sleep and digest. Several weeks ago, I bought a turkey, knowing that I'd be having my main holiday meal at my brother-in-law's house, but not being quite ready to abandon my own traditional cooking duties. I invited my daughter and some of her circle of friends over, as well as our neighbor who is closer to our kids' age than ours. There was an echo of the same dilemma we faced on Thursday, with my food issues, plus a peanut allergy and an onion allergy to work around, but overall the meal came out very close to my traditional memories of the occasion. And now I have all the leftovers I managed to avoid from round one. Turkey soup has already been started from the carcass of this bird, and I will be eating mashed potatoes and pie at least twice more in the upcoming days.
I expected this to be more of a group effort to put this meal together, but instead I had to drive the man back to Boulder to try to fix his truck (and fail), and I came back and did all of the cooking and cleaning alone. The house wasn't perfect, but the dinner was, and in the end, that was all that mattered. Luckily there was football on, and my wifi was behaving, so the early arrivals didn't mind when I snuck off right before dinner to have the shower I'd put off while I cooked and cleaned, and left them to their own entertainment. That man of mine had spent a solid four or five hours trying to sort out where the electrical failing was in his truck, in sub-freezing temps, in a public parking lot (in a 15 minute parking only zone), and I didn't have the heart to put him to work when he finally got here. Good thing the food was mostly cooked, and the only job he needed to do was the traditional manly turkey carving.
Since that first moment I sat at the table and took the weight off of my swollen ankles, I have been able to think of nothing but how badly my feet hurt. Why is it so necessary to have hard floors like tile in kitchens? It's awful on middle aged legs, having to stand on that crap for so many hours in a row. I suppose I'll just stop blogging right about here, rather than spend the next hour coming up with new and creative ways to say OW. That's all that's left in me for the night. That, and lots and lots of turkey and pie.
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