November 28th, 2003

Red PJs

(no subject)

When was the last time I celebrated Thanksgiving?

I remember a few years of hiding out in my van down by the river.

I remember many years spent with family (mine, and other people's), the kind where you're there because you're expected to be there, to not be there would make various people angry, and perhaps consoling yourself with the knowledge a good meal is paying you off for tolerating the presence of people you wouldn't actually choose to spend the evening with.

The only memories I have of looking forward to celebrating Thanksgiving are from childhood. (Although more often than not (re: every damn time) they included some pre-trip tension ala "Look, let's just enjoy the day.") (I never understood getting yelled at and threatened along the lines of "everyone better be happy" just before going somewhere special, somewhere we (my bro and I) were definitely looking forward to and planning on having a good time. Nothing squashes childhood glee quite like a glowering adult commanding you to be happy. {I wouldn't mind going back to not understanding it, either.})

So like I was saying, last night.

Already declined family invites, check.

Someone I want to spend time with, check.

We opted to mostly wing the day, not having any plans besides "see if we can find an open grocery store and get stuff to cook, barring that try to find open Boston Market." Thankfully there were enough thankless people working around here, and after arriving at the first grocery stop 2 minutes after closing, we found another one that was open for the entire day. I was a little surprised at how many turkeys they had left, I'd had vague memories of T-day shopping in years past yielding a few beaten-looking birds in the bottom of an empty freezer-case. We yoinked the smallest looking turkey breast and after skimming the entire store accumulated traditional accessories. (Err, we gathered everything pretty fast, I just wanted to keep looking around anyway.)

I'm not sure quite how but dinner practically cooked itself. (After a lengthy and painful defrost period, which kind of SNAEK ATTAK!!!!!ed both of us.) While I realize what we got was fairly simple, I also suspect a fair amount of grandstanding about Thee Eternal Suffering and Heartache of Holiday Cooking is a fat load. Sure, I like cooking, which is a good start, but I have a hard time believing that anyone who takes it upon themselves to be the family holiday-cooker would honestly hate it to begin with. Maybe I should have thrown flour on my face and come back from kitchen visits with increasingly visible wear. One trip, a heavy sigh. The next, the flour makes it entrance. After that, flour and sighs and an "Oh, how I toil!", with my fists raised to the heavens. Another visit and maybe I could introduce a limp. (I'd probably have to stop there, I never got that cast-making stuff from the craft store.)

Somehow, nothing got burned, was undercooked, or had anything else untoward happen to it. Somehow, it was a great fucking meal (on a great fucking evening, with great fucking company). I suppose I shouldn't be surprised, but I guess I have a partial expectation of things going "GROINK" and springs flying out when it comes to normal things thrust into the context of special occasions. So great, in fact, that I completely forgot to get a slice of cake afterwards. I think I'll rectify that now.
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