This Thanksgiving my family descended upon our small abode:

1. Moms
2. Pops
3. 85-year-old grandma
4. Brother (who may or may not have Mexican hepatitis)
5. Adopted sister who lives here
6. Adopted 17-year-old sister with fragile ego
7. Adopted soon-to-be 17-year-old with mild autism
8. Boyfriend of sister who lives here
9. 19-year-old Mexican girl who is living with Moms and Pops

So, I spent four full days in the kitchen doing nothing but cooking… but it was heaven.

We had such faire as homemade pizza, which Evie helped make. Pork stew over a really creamy polenta. Scones, which Evie helped make, and sent my grandmother into fits of tears. said with a Puerto Rican accent “Oh, isn’t she lovely. Oh, I’m so proud of her. Oh, she’s so beautiful. Oh, I’ve never seen a two-year old help so much in the kitchen.” (Such outbursts were quite common.)

For Thanksgiving we had:

The best turkey I have ever eaten in my life. It was a free-range, fresh bird that I rubbed it down with sea-salt 4 days before; injected with bourbon the day before; and then slid a mixture of salt, pepper, thyme, oregano, savory, and sage in between the skin and meat the day of and rubbed it down in butter. After searing it, breast side down at 425 for close to an hour; I turned the heat down to 325 and basted three times it in a turkey broth I’d made the day before and then in its own juices about every 30 minutes. It came out golden brown and absolutely dripping with moisture and flavor.

Our sides: greenbean casserole (I was crazy enough to make the cream of mushroom soup for it. It was a roasted portabellas and shitakes with port, cream, and chicken broth); sweet potato casserole with mascarpone; toasted pecan, bacon and sage corn bread dressing; pear, cranberry, and port sauce; a field green, fresh pear, roasted pumpkin seed, and manchego cheese salad with a lemon-thyme dijon vinagrette; and homemade dinner rolls.

We had 3 pumpkin pies, a bourbon-pecan pie and a boubon-peacan-chocolate pie. Evie helped me make the crust; all the while she was saying “Nonna and Nonna and Ita are gonna be so proud of me?”

Dad, the bastard, took the leftover dinner rolls when they left to head back home without asking. Had I not spent four hours making them, I wouldn’t‘ve minded too much. Then again, no real harm was done.

Last Sunday our music minister finally, after 7 years of hounding me, convinced me to sing with the choir for our church’s performance of the Messiah. He says he needs my voice. Which is all fine and good, but I suck at sight reading and this is the Messiah, after all…. oh, and it’s next Sunday. I agreed because I’ve always wanted to do it, and this will most likely be our last fall here.

The Choir will be singing the following selections… there will be a few of the recitatives and airs sung by professional opera singers thrown in for good measure. It is predominantly taken from the first part. Should any of you be in this fair city, you are more than welcome to attend.

#4, And the Glory of the Lord

#7, And He Shall Purify

#9, Oh Thou that Tellest Good Tidings to Zion

#12, For Unto Us a Child Is Born

#17, Glory to God

#21, His Yoke Is Easy, and His Burthen Is Light

#25, And with His Stripes We Are Healed

#44, Hallelujah

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