Turkey Day Eve

The evening before Thanksgiving is quiet and peaceful. Hil and I sit by the fire watching Glee reruns and Pat goes to Homecoming. It is the first school event he's voluntarily attended and I am very proud of the way he put himself out there against his nature.  I am thinking I will eventually have to do the same thing. Yuck.

Thanksgiving morning comes and I post on Facebook that I am grateful for my colorful life, my wonderful friends and family near and far who inspire me, enlighten me and sustain me.  It is a post that covers all the bases. And includes a Joni Mitchell quote. Perfection.

I prepare the dishes I'd promised Charlotte. Sweet Potato Spatchcock and an apple crisp.  The Spatchcock as it is known is a delicious mistake of a dish I repeat from memory every year since I first hoped and prayed through it. I had had one recipe for a sweet potato casserole, and another for a sweet potato souffle, and had most of the ingredients for both, but not one complete recipe. I improvised. How can you go wrong with brown sugar and pecans and marshmallows and vanilla breakfast cereal and lots of butter? It's become a crowd favorite and I make pounds and pounds of it so that my one nephew can enjoy it all week.

At the appointed hour, I put on my festively fall colored outfit and pack the kids, the goodies and everything else into the car. We go over the river and through the woods and soon are enjoying the company of Charlotte's family and some friends of her and Jacks.

The woman remarks on my fancy pants. They are moss green brushed cotton with muted-color paisels cross stitched all over the bell bottoms and up the back of my legs. Very sexy in an understated way. She asks where I got them. I tell her a zillion years ago at Daffy's when I was on a mission for Date Clothes during my divorce. They were from my Touchable Clothes phase.

My whaaaa?

I explain that when I re-entered the dating scene and had to burn all of my mommy clothes and flannel pajamas in favor of new figure flattering fabulous items to lift the spirit and inpire a man to ask me on a date, I had gone through a phase where I'd been hell bent on Touchable Clothes. Clothes that were so textured or so soft or so interesting in some way that a man would be inspired to touch them. And then presumably ask me for a date.

She looks at me like she can't believe anyone actually had a thought so innane.

And I tell her that I am about to go an buy a batch of new date clothes, since Scott flew the coop and it is time to repeat that little exercise. 

She thinks I shouldn't have to...since obviously I'd have date clothes from dates with Scott.

And I have to tell her that we really didn't have a lot of dates. What we did was surf and jet ski and romp in the ocean and walk on the boardwalk and BBQ in the yard with beer and Gin and Tonics. 

Again, she looks like I've just flown in from Mars. But that was my life. The one I miss. The one I am pining for right this minute.

Eventually we sit and eat our fabulous dinner. Jack and Charlotte have outdone themselves and we are all having a blast. Between the martinis and the cold medicine I've been taking, I find myself asleep at the dining table hours after dessert while the boys build a bonfire outside and Charlotte cleans up around her slumbering idiot sister.

Another fine showing.  I really need to get my act together.