Thanks Giving Turkeys
I would not say that we are a conventional household. I live with my two daughters, and a housemate, who is a student at UVic as well. My kids are grown and nearly grown, our lives revolve around the various schools we each attend. This Thanksgiving, we decided at the last minute to cook a turkey, invite some friends and make it all up as we went, which is how we roll most of the time. There is never a plan as such, more of an idea.
The turkey was the first problem. Realising that it needed to be cooked, and not being at home, my older daughter called our housemate and asked him to start it cooking. Turns out, not one of the four adults in the room, nor the two at the other end of the phone had any clue about how to go about this.
There were discussions about temperature which varied wildly, no one seemed to know how big the bird was, nor whether it was thawed or not. Even Google was no help as every site said something different. In the end, it was put in the oven at an uncertain temperature, for an unprescribed amount of time, sometime in the afternoon.
I would like to add here that no one got food poisoning and it was perhaps a little overcooked, but at least not toxic!
The rest of the meal came together quite well, guests arrived with their contributions and dinner hit the table with some form of ceremony and thanks. The wine and other libations were poured, the serving spoons provided, and the pleasant task of the destruction of our efforts began.
The meal itself is always secondary to these things really. It is the gathering of friends and those who make up family, blood or not, that makes the day. Most of the meal was spent laughing and talking, enjoying the meal that was a product of teamwork.
It was good to think, that as we gathered around our table, that out of our particular form of chaos, not only had we constructed a meal, but a place of friendship and family where the lines blurred between those distinctions to the point where they did not matter any more.
I am indeed thankful.
