My kids are going to their Dad’s for Thanksgiving. I have no local family but them, so it doesn’t matter to me when we celebrate … just as long as we do it sometime. Lisa took pity on me and invited me over. In turn, I bring booze. I’ll try to show restraint – minimal hors d'oeuvres (mostly carrots), turkey and stuffing, a dab of cranberry sauce, veggies and desert. I can live without potatoes. It’ll still be too much, but it’s only once per year. That’s the problem. For the next month, we’ll be saying “it’s only once per year” a lot.
On Friday, Beth and I will hit the Black Friday sales. Then at 6:30, I’ll leave my car at the mechanic’s and she’ll drop me off at Farm King before 7 a.m. for their annual live broadcast. (You know you live in a rural area, when there is a chain of department stores called Farm King.) Sam will give me a ride back to the stations. I’ll work till 5 (lucky me), even though the only business people open will be too busy to look at an advertising person. Beth (my domestic goddess) is cooking our Thanksgiving dinner. This was her choice. (I can do it on Saturday, but she asked to take over last year and did great.) She’s even baking pie from scratch. I can’t tell the difference between pre-made crusts and scratch, so it never seemed worth the hassle. I’ll make over her for a lot though, because she’s gone to a lot of effort.
I wish I liked holidays better. When I was married, holidays were such a battleground. Dennis and his family pouted if they didn’t get them all. My mom got pissed, if she was bumped to the following weekend too many times. Divorce did not make it easier. When you work full time, it’s hard to be the perfect event planner … particularly when you quit enjoying them. I’m happy to let other’s have the hostess spotlight.
Since I won’t be cooking, not going food-crazy should be easier. That’s the theory, anyway.
