The Kitchen

My kitchen is a nightmare that has been cleaned, in part, by other people, dirtied, and partially cleaned again. I watched my dearest friend’s girlfriend hug her and help me put away leftovers. The engineers made sure the outdoor turkey roaster didn’t burn the house down. DP changed out of his pajama pants only after everyone arrived. I did not lose my shit a thousand times.

We call our Thanksgiving dinners Orphan Thanksgiving. It has become a testament to made families. This year members of my blood family were there, but my sisters and I are orphans and are making new traditions. Our dinner made up for at least four different profoundly shitty family situations, and there was gratitude and pie. I did not lose my shit a thousand times.

Leftover Dinner was when everyone got cranky, when my made family showed its cracks. But unlike last year, DP and I did not fight once. We watched the dysfunction, and then watched each other’s back. I like his back. He has broad shoulders, and he cooks like a dream. I lost my shit only slightly.

I am sitting in my kitchen, by the fire, alone for the first time in a week. Instead of making conversation, cleaning something, bringing people food, or solving a problem, I am drinking whiskey, and watching over the dog and the new dog. The new dog is a Christmas present for my sister-in-law and nephews. He is silly and glorious and tiny, and I adore how he carries around the stupid little pink soccer ball in his mouth as if he has won the Dog Lottery, which I suppose he has. I am thankful for the little corner of my Internet and the wood stove, the dogs, and the whiskey that I hid from everyone else.

I hope you have grabbed a little corner of peace for yourself as well, and that your run-ons aren’t quite as bad as mine.


Indy Clause


13 responses to “The Kitchen

  1. Nice trick to be able to post this tomorrow when tomorrow hasn’t come. My holiday was deliberately low key, in part because the kids are scattered to the four winds and in part because of past explosive holidays.

    • That is cool, isn’t it! Well, it’s still the 30th where I am, but I think WordPress runs on English time.

      My niece (who is a gem of a kid) had a small teenage meltdown after five days with all of us, and I had the sobering realization that I was One of Them, the Adults.

  2. My kids ran riot, but there were moments of peace and great hilarity. I did not lose my shit—I kept it close to hand.

    (Umarmungen und Küsse, meine Freundin)

  3. Wish I could have been there… You realise of course, that Mom didn’t like turkey, so this kind of orphan thanksgiving is probably a relief for her (“thank goodness those children of mine have left me out of this!”).

    However, I dreamed about her last night, so maybe she did feel a bit left out, and had to call nonetheless. She did, after all, manage to make us Thanksgiving dinner, and choke down whatever variation of turkey was on the menu any given year for many years (we smoked a turkey on the barbecue once, in about, I think 1987. Do you remember that? I think mom thought, “whatever!”).

    As you know, our own thanksgiving was disrupted by the second youngest cougar cub going to hospital (again). We gave thanks for the fact that medical care is so close and so good. Turkey tastes good reheated anyway.

    Teri – how’s your tennis elbow?

    • My tennis elbow is still bad. I attempted naproxen with physio therapy, but the drugs suppressed my breathing to a frightening degree. So scratch that option. This week I see the ortho again and I think I’m going for the new plasma injection. I’ll let you know…

      We had a lovely, if sometimes odd, Thanksgiving weekend. Let’s just say I see the benefits of an anonymous blog.

      The temporary dog makes my entire December.

  4. We’ve got nothing but peace over here. Just me and my little hombre, rattling around the house. I like the idea of you at your kitchen fire—the dog, the whisky, the calm after a rambunctious few days. Keep your feet up, jot a word or two, and call it a day.


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