[I’m rather beset at the moment, so have an essay from the old Palace Of Reason. This one was written by writer and Co-Conspirator Michelle Buckman. — FWP]
November 26, 2002.
Ahh, Thanksgiving holiday. A full two days to relax.
The relaxation begins at six o’clock in the morning, which is precisely when you must rise from the warmth of your bed to get Mr. Turkey stuffed and shoved into the oven to meet the dinner deadline. Once he’s in the oven, there are vegetables to chop and casseroles to defrost, wine to chill and desserts to prepare. The fine China has to be washed to rid it of the dust that’s gathered on it since Easter.
With company coming, the bathrooms need a quick cleaning, and the carpet probably needs vacuuming. The furniture hasn’t been dusted all week, and Junior’s dirty clothes are scattered all over his bedroom floor. The girls’ hair needs brushing and braiding, and their dresses from Grandma need to be pulled from the depths of the closet and ironed into perfection. A shower, clothes, make-up. Finally, you’re ready to relax and enjoy.
Relatives and friends start arriving. Time to take coats, pull out appetizers, serve wine, check on dinner. Kids fight over a toy, grown-ups argue politics, the dinner rolls burn.
At last, dinner is on the table. You sit, relax, enjoy the meal. Uncle Joe wants more wine. Aunt Rosie needs ketchup. Ketchup? On your fine dinner? Is there margarine instead of butter? Who ate all the stuffing? The green bean casserole is cold in the middle. The second batch of dinner rolls aren’t enough; half the guests go without bread. Didn’t cousin Marty bring the pumpkin pie as promised? Someone forgot to whip the cream.
Despite the din of voices, the turkey disappears, plates piled high slowly diminish to crumbs, spoons clatter into empty bowls. Conversation hits a lull. All have eaten their fill. They relax comatose on the sofa while you begin hauling dishes to the sink. There are so many plates stacked everywhere, it looks like a cartoon kitchen. Pots and pans and casserole dishes fill up the rest of the counter space. Your nephew is filling doggy bags to take back to his empty campus refrigerator. The dog is having a heyday cleaning up the floor. Mugs of coffee are passed out. Sated diners, still nibbling on desserts, murmur in subdued dialogues as the sun sets.
The evening winds down. The kitchen is finally returned to normal. The wine is all gone. Friends and family have departed. The house is quiet. You smile as you trudge up to bed, satisfied with the memory of another wonderful Thanksgiving dinner.
You crawl into bed, exhausted, and set your alarm for five o’clock, anxious to be one of the first of the million after-Thanksgiving-sales customers to hit the stores. Beyond the shopping, you contemplate the Christmas decorations to pulled from the attic, the tree to be erected, the stockings to hang, and another dinner to plan.
Oh, don’t be in such rush. Relax! After all, you still have a whopping twenty-six days till Christmas.
