I hope that everyone had a wonderful Thanksgiving. Any holiday that involves overeating with your loved ones can't be all that bad, right?
As long as I have enough booze to see me through...
Thanksgiving is by far my favorite holiday. Sometimes I make a mini thanksgiving dinner at home when the mood strikes me, usually in mid-April. Since my family lives in the far reaches of northern Maine and they aren't exactly easily accessible, visits are few and far between and they are usually a pretty big effort on my part to get there. No matter though. So we got nearly a foot of snow this year...it was pretty stunning to wake up surrounded by deep winter.
No matter that I didn't have my winter boots on me since it's still a balmy 60 in New York as of late so I wouldn't even know where to start looking for them. I did get yelled at for punching holes in the lawn with my spike heels before changing into a pair of enormous Wellies that were handy.
Family thinks I might be a tad special. I just go along with it.
Because he just had major surgery, my Grandfather isn't supposed to be using the chainsaw or lifting more than 25 pounds, but apparently he's ok to get the snowblower going.
It left the younger generation to deal with the downed trees.
We also have a nice tradition to grill the turkey slow and low out on the Webber.
I normally count turkey as one of my least favorite animals to eat, but do it up on the grill over coals and I'm in heaven. It's perfectly juicy with that lovely smokey taste that leads me to believe that I might be a closeted Southerner.
It makes me contemplate thankfulness, of course. I have my health and I live better than the majority of the world does.
I am thankful that the kitchen is small enough so that you couldn't possibly fit one more person around the sink to do dishes.
I got to clean the turkey carcass instead. For some sick reason, I love doing that job and I get about as Zen'ed out as one possibly can while dealing with a giant mutant bird carcass.
Thanksgiving is right at the tail end of deer hunting season in Maine. Growing up, we always had venison for or with dinner since someone ought to have gotten a deer tagged by then. For whatever reason, no one in the family hunts any more. Bambi gets to frolic around the back yard while we're eating notdeer.
It was fabulous to see everyone and interesting to see the landscape change as I'm usually only willing to make that journey in the middle of summer, when the lake has no ice on it and the brave might even dip a toe in.
I couldn't leave Maine without finding a descent Lobster roll either. It just doesn't feel right.