This will be the first Thanksgiving in years without Stella, Al, and Marisa.Even the move to different coasts or continents has never stopped us before. I miss them.
I flew back specifically to prepare for this feast, which we will celebrate at the weekend. I am suffering from jetlag and a sort of emotional hangover but today will be devoted to racing around the city tracking down all of the elements of a traditional dinner not eaten in this nation.
The notes from Marisa’s father about turkey preparation are still sitting on the counter from last year, but whoever will extract the giblets? Pluck the feathers, clean the bird? Not to mention all of the other work involved in hosting a huge party. As those who know me well can testify, I do not cook or clean or care. Stella once even asked if she could make a postcard with the phrase on it.
Domestic matters are not my thing.
Why then am I about to make a dozen pumpkin pies from scratch?
The whole thing is a mystery.