Happy Thanksgiving

It's Thanksgiving Day. A day for giving thanks for having to do all the planning, preparation and cooking and baking so the men can do what they enjoy out in the woods. The pumpkin pie is made (the first time in history that there is only one pie in our family), the cranberry bread is cooling, the cranberry salad is cooling, the wild rice and broccoli casserole (a new offering that might throw someone of a bit) is ready to pop in the oven and the turkey is completely thawed (another family first). We might actually have a Thanksgiving dinner with everything done at once. It will be a year of firsts.

Even before all the culinary firsts -- OK, I'm using StoveTop (another first) stuffing, so "culinary" might be an overstatement -- I'm thinking of testing the wine. Heck, it might help to add a mellow glow to the whole cook and serve gala. And, it might make it necessary for Paul to keep his word and grill the turkey this year instead of just starting the grill and walking away until it's time to eat. Not that he's ever done that, of course. And, I'll admit that I've done it, too, which explains our occasional vegetarian Thanksgiving dinners.

Growing up in Racine meant Thanksgiving dinners where people dressed up and acted as if the day was a holiday. Moving to the farm meant that Thanksgiving dinner was an added reward to hunters who designated nine days to manliness and guns and beer and such. Dressing for dinner simply meant leaving the blaze orange on a the floor somewhere because all the chairs were necessary around the table. The meal remains nearly the same, with the exception of the aforementioned boxed stuffing cheat and the omission of those awful sausage experiments in squash and stuffing. Squash should be a recognizable consistency and flavor. Stuffing should be bread and celery and onions and maybe mushrooms (mushrooms are still off limits for Evan, so there won't be any of those this year) mixed with broth. On every other Thanksgiving under my control, those basic ingredients were mixed with broth made by cooking up the turkey neck and gizzards even if it meant cutting up my hands digging them out of the frozen bird. But, in case you can't tell, I'm not in the mood for that this year. Betty Crocker or someone went to all the trouble of inventing StoveTop, so I'm feeling it's pretty darned American to scratch open the box and call it good.

We're a small group this year. Five of us: Alyssa, Evan, Ned, Paul and me. Karl is with Alissa Diane's family in Sheboygan and Kit and Violet headed to Tulsa to visit her family. Evan has to leave tonight to head back to Minneapolis for an early Friday appointment, so we'll have an even smaller group then. Weird.

Alyssa just arrived. That's already a boon to my spirits. Although I love them all, living in Barb's House O'Men can get to be just a little too manly. It's good to have my girl home. She doesn't care about guns or bucks or doe tags either. What a relief. I'm in a better mood already.

Happy Thanksgiving!