My husband Steve and I have come a long way since our first Thanksgiving together. We were 20 at the time, living in a cabin in Trinidad, California, 250 miles from home. I’d never cooked a turkey before and there wasn’t much chance of impressing Steve with my culinary expertise, but I optimistically lugged a 12-pound bird home from Safeway, then whipped up a batch of stuffing the night before. On Thanksgiving morning, when it came time to actually dress the bird, I realized the thing had two holes – one on top and one at the bottom – and I had no clue which end served as the receptacle for sautéed onions and bread crumbs. I called my mother to ask.
“Mom! I’m ready to stuff the turkey. Which hole does the dressing go in?”
Snort. Laugh. Little sip of eggnog. “Oh, Rennnneee!”
Mom clued me in, and I stuffed the bird, then popped him into the oven.
Steve and I walked up to Patrick’s Point State Park while our bird incinerated, which we guessed might take an hour or two, since, regardless of setting, our gas oven cooked everything at 500 degrees. Sure enough, the little guy was done maybe 90 minutes later – crunchy on the outside, crunchy on the inside, just the way Steve liked it.
It was a crazy, happy time, and we were so grateful to be together. I’m still grateful – for Steve, our children, our parents, and our family and friends. I love you all so much, and as you spend time with your own friends and family this week, know that I’m wishing you all the best for a wonderful Thanksgiving.
1 comment:
We're blessed too, Mamacita. We're blessed to have found in you such a good friend. One who makes our lives richer, a little bit greener and much, much funnier every day. xoxox, jt
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