I am not cooking the turkey this year. Neither is anyone else in my generation of the family. So even though I will be making my own famous sweet potato casserole, trying to reproduce my mother's southern creamed corn, and my mother-in-law's special frozen cranberry salad, my son will be cooking the turkey.
|He's 35 now!|
I am so delighted. First of all, he is a good cook! Secondly, he is enlisting the help of his two younger male cousins and teaching them to cook. Thirdly, it just feels so good to have him step up and take over the most important role of Thanksgiving lunch. I couldn't be more proud and I can't wait to taste it!
So I go to the gym for an extra workout to cover tomorrow's meal, then stop by Kroger with everyone else. I think today must be their Black Friday, the biggest food shopping day of the year. I went for the fresh yams over the canned ones, peeled them, chopped them, boiled them, mashed them, and topped them.
As I plowed through all this knife work, I had a dialogue with myself. "I'm really glad I am the one making this dish because these potatoes are really hard and it would be so easy to cut your finger off!". That is exactly what I said to myself silently.
Then, not nearly so silently, "OUCH!", I said. Actually I yelled it. Yes, you know it. I almost sliced my thumb off. Bleeding profusely. I cannot believe this! I'm immediately in the bathroom, away from the food, hoping I won't need stitches, afraid to look...dripping very dark red blood everywhere! And there is so much of it!
Fast forward a few hours. I'm blogging with my thumb still all wrapped up in paper towels. It's the only thing that will stem the flow.
Thank goodness, the potatoes are safe and blood-free. I will live, and tomorrow will be a very good day!