I think I might have stumbled upon a tradition.
Not sure exactly what precipitated the madness, but I went out and bought a ginormous turkey (just the breast… all 7+ pounds of it) earlier this week. Stuffing, potatoes, cranberry sauce.
Oh, and it was delicious.
Just the two of us and our autumn-themed candles and jack-o-lantern cosiness. The last two years Thanksgiving has been fun but crazy—so much driving and dashing around in order to be with both families in that sort of home-but-not-home feeling that inevitably occurs when you start your own home. It sounded nice to have a little low-key test turkey dinner on our own.
And the brilliant thing is that it’s not going to spoil our appetite for the real thing, because with only two people you don’t really have a chance to go for all the yummy sides (like yams. Carl hates yams, so I’m still waiting for a crack at those). No pumpkin pie. No squash or green peas.
Just turkey and cosiness.
And more turkey.
7 pounds is a lot of meat for us, but I’ve got turkey sandwiches and a turkey pot pie lined up, and if we still have more I’m thinking about a turkey-spinach-ricotta stuffed jumbo shells in red sauce.
I think we’ll be okay.
In other, non-food related news, I spent the day mailing out query letters and trying to whip the synopsis into better shape. It occurs to me (as it often does in this stage of the process) that I would really have made an excellent secretary since I ADORE filing things and printing out extra copies and addressing letters and generally straightening corners.
Perhaps slightly OCD?
Speaking of, I took an “autism spectrum disorders” test the other day for fun, and it turns out those things aren’t ANY FUN AT ALL because apparently I’m knocking on the door of autism. Not kidding. Normal is 16. Autistic is 32. I’m 29.
I’m pretty sure it’s just rigged against introverts, because I kept answering a resounding NO, ABSOLUTELY NO when it asked if I remember numbers easily and see patterns in everything and can’t tell the difference between a frown and a smile… and then it would be all snarky and “are you self-directed and happy to work alone?” At which point I would have to admit that sometimes—once in a while—I kind of do.
Well, one is rather savant-like in one’s abilities, it’s true. I celebrated by eating a sandwich and reading a couple of chapters in this really fascinating biography of Nancy Cunard (“Heiress, muse, political idealist” the tagline says, so really what’s not to love?).