Our Thanksgiving menu: Deep-fried turkey with sage and garlic, CCB’s beef-bouillon-reduced green beans, mashed potatoes with an undisclosed amount of butter and cream cheese, these Brussels sprouts, Ma’s sweet potato casserole (which is actually a recipe Thing 2 got 30-odd years ago from an elementary school cafeteria worker), Dad’s stuffing (with and without liver), a bottle of Barefoot chardonnay and, perhaps, the “Indians in the Lobby” episode of West Wing.
All of our regularly scheduled events and activities are canceled on holiday weekends. Ostensibly, this is because we all want to spend time with our families. But without hockey games, hockey practice, soccer and even kickball this week, I’m facing a serious calorie surplus. I mean, it’s not like the Thanksgiving holiday has kept me from my weekly Lard and Eggnog Roundtable. I could use a good jog or two, is all I’m saying.
“Well, Hannah, if you were really that concerned about it, you could always try eating less.” No, no, I cannot. Now go wash your mouth out with gravy and promise never to speak of such things again.
I will say, assuming I can be productive for the remaining 17 work hours this week, the long weekend is well timed. Last Friday and Saturday alone I packed hockey practice, a yard sale (bite me, 6 a.m.) and an on-site interview into a 24-hour period. OK, maybe that doesn’t sound like a lot, but like I said, logistics stress me out. This weekend’s clear schedule is having a sedative effect; every time I think about the big ball of nothing I have to do on Friday, it’s like I’m on a morphine drip. Black Friday? I think not. We might ride our bikes to DeSoto Square “Mall” on Friday afternoon, as we did last year, out of pure, uncompetitive curiosity, but the only way I’m seeing 5 a.m. this weekend is if I wake up to go pee.
Anyway, tonight’s boxing workout will mark our last extracurricular obligation of the week; last year we did Uppercut’s Thanksgiving morning bonus torture, which is great and all, but I miss the Macy’s Day Parade. I miss spending Thanksgiving morning in my pajamas. I think now is the time to get back to traditional values, and that means no shoes before noon. So we’re going to stock up at Publix tonight, stick our 12 lb. Jenny-O in the fridge, and begin the slow, relaxing descent into the Christmas season.
Have a good one, all, and remember: A frozen turkey is an explodey turkey. Defrost responsibly.