Thanksgiving was a quiet affair. It was just the two of us with none of the obligations that usually come with a major holiday. We did all of whatever we wanted and none of whatever we should be doing. We hiked, ate cinnamon rolls, had breakfast for lunch, and made the traditional feast of turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes, gravy, cranberry sauce, and pie.
All the food came from Costco and was fool proof: 1) Put it in the oven. 2) Eat. Mostly, it was a day of doing dishes. Feasting and cleaning up.
We watched football, started a jigsaw, and read books. There was no family around to invite over so we invited a neighbor who would have otherwise been alone so we weren’t entirely selfish. As it turned out, though, she couldn’t make it so our selfishness felt guilt free. (We tried - a little.)
It was easy to appreciate all our bounty when we didn’t have to share it with anyone. But we also thought about our families who were elsewhere for one reason or another. Friends, too. We reached out by text which felt more genuine, in a way, than sharing a crowded room with them. It was a brief moment to share honest appreciation for one another without the chaos of a family gathering. Not that family gatherings aren’t joyful but they’re a lot of work.
The holiday started early in the week, as soon as the pies were either purchased or made. There were more cinnamon rolls than we could possibly eat so it made sense to get started on those early as well. Afterwards, of course, there were leftovers. We made tetrazzini with the turkey and we tried diligently to get through all the pie for more than a week.
Finally, it was garbage day and, sadly, whatever was left got tossed. The refrigerator and all of my food storage containers were reclaimed. (More dishes.)
As if I knew the void was coming, I'd already purchased baking ingredients. Cookies are not far off in my future. As one holiday swells into another, it's hard to think about work. No time for that when there's cyber shopping to be done.
Knock, knock! says work.
*visions of sugar plums dissolve*
This is not over! I shout.
And, indeed, it is not.