"How's the star doing?" my husband asked as he walked into the kitchen on Christmas (he was at work). I opened the oven and showed him - "Lookin' good! Smells great in here, what needs to be done?" he said. This really sent me on a spiral of thinking. The kind that weaves through what I call "neither here nor there", the abyss.
I gave him my rundown of what was happening in the kitchen - things that were done and to do. As we chatted I really started to dive into a different place. Reflection.
We joke a lot about the turkey and how it's the main event - but the more I reflect on it, the more I realize it isn't the main event for me, it never has been. How many times do we talk about turkey after the fact? Everyone remembers it being there, but I feel like there isn't enough love given to the sides.
I made homemade perogies this year (as I often do), to me that's memorable - it brings me back to my mom and all the memories I have of her making them for us. The painstaking retro appetizers (hello little olive peguins and the cheeseball). My spread is nothing in comparison to what my mom use to do for us.
The memories I have about turkey aren't about the taste or how it looked, they're about what happened around it. Like the time we all burnt our arms making one during our early years of "friendsgivingmas". The time we accidentally bought a butterball injected turkey (never again). We don't often talk about the taste of the turkey itself though (I've had varying degrees of delicious turkey in my time). What we do remember though, and chat about often, is the company, the laughs, the memories. I also giggle because... turkey makes me think of the Vinyl Cafe and Mister Bean. While I find myself adding turkey to my plate, it's not quite what I'm there for. I'm loading up on the perogies, stuffing, veggies... the turkey kind of just...exists? I put it on my plate and eat it, but it's not what I remember. Anyone else feeling this? Perhaps this anecdote is for the birds...
xx
Cousin Laura
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