I've got trouble with a Capital "T". And it's not the kind that rhymes with P. No, it's the T that rhymes with key. As in tur-key. Thanksgiving turkey.
As in, I haven't started cooking yet. And there's a hard deadline. Tomorrow!
I'm a relative newcomer to the family Thanksgiving table. It's not that my family didn't celebrate America's favorite holiday. We did. But my mom, tired, I guess, from cooking for all of the Jewish holidays that typically fall in September and October, was finished by the November feast. So, our family tradition centered on the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade in New York (chilly but magical) and dinner with close family friends in a real restaurant. Because we rarely ate out in restaurants, let alone "fancy" restaurants (it was the 1970's, after all), this was a huge treat! For the kids and the parents. (Except, of course, for the one year that the chef quit and we were not feeling thankful when our food had not arrived more than three hours after our order.) I still think that's the way to go.
But my husband's family takes their Thanksgiving traditions seriously. They gather each year up and down the East Coast, from Newport, Rhode Island to Newport News, Virginia (not too far from Colonial Williamsburg), and spend Thanksgiving weekend eating, reminiscing, and laughing. Then eating some more. I knew that our relationship had serious potential when my then-boyfriend, now-husband invited me to Thanksgiving dinner. Now, every year, I look forward to the gathering.
Since I've joined the family,though, we've only hosted Thanksgiving once, back in 2004 when we only had one kid. And then, I cooked for weeks before and filled the freezer with soups, muffins, and sauces. This year, for some reason, my plan to cook early went off the rails. (Well, I know why. Two kids, two big projects, one illness, this blog. A recipe for procrastination and delay.)
So, now its our turn, and like the turkey, my time is up.