I slept horribly last night; the lights in my brain just would not click off. As a result, I'm feeling more slug-like than expected: not entirely ready to leap into feast prep. Perhaps another cup of coffee will increase my pie excitement.
At some point today I'll have to pick up the turkey from the meat market. I've got that pie to bake, and probably another batch of bread to mix up as well. Turns out that Paul has to work tonight, which is a little disappointing, but at least he definitely has tomorrow off. He's going to grind up the cranberry relish before he leaves, and maybe start the giblet stock and cut bread cubes for stuffing. We've studied our turkey recipe, made a plan for tomorrow's side-dish tasks (Paul: sprouts; Dawn: potatoes), and scheduled our oven use accordingly. Thanksgiving is pretty much the only time I find myself wondering what it would be like to have two ovens. But I am certainly thrilled to have fully operational kitchen counters for this meal. Let the spills commence.
Weather-wise, we've got rain and maybe a little snow on the way . . . so it will be a comfortable, indoor holiday: wood fire burning all day, football murmuring in the back room. I wish James could be here. I wish we could be with our parents and sisters. But we do the best with what we have to work with, and I am very fortunate to have my cheerful housemates. Plus, Tom's parents have planned a Zoom dinner and card party for all of us, which will be goofy and glitchy and very fun. I'll bring a plate of turkey over to my neighbor; I'll light a lot of candles; maybe I'll even dress up a little.
Tending the flame . . . keeping the dread at bay . . .