Yesterday, I got the pies completed and baked, chopped the onions and celery for the stuffing, made corn bread (recipe from Martha Stewart), peeled the potatoes and have them in water in the refrig, and set the dining room table. The table looks great with the new burgandy tablecloth; the color picks up the color of the roses on the china that was my mother's. On each plate, I put one of the little chocolate turkeys I got at Lucille's, with the guest's name propped up on the feathers. Today, I'll make the apple cranberry sauce and complete the other little finishing touches.
Called Mary H., of Ventnor, to see if she has a crib. She has a portable one, which I'll borrow just to see if would serve, but will ask Mike if a regular one would be better.
Must get dressed and ready for our morning walk.
Later: I've got a turkey in the oven. That used to be the goofy signal that somebody was pregnant (ain't no way, no how around here). I put the stuffing together and in the bird, made the apple cranberry sauce, whipped the cream for the pumpkin pie and am now just awaiting my company.
As I told Susan this morning, the Thanksgiving game between Holy Spirit and Atlantic High was as much a part of the day as turkey. HSHS always lost, year after year, as it was a small parochial school and ACHS was the big high school for the whole area. (It used to irritate me no end to hear people refer to ACHS as simply "high school,'' as if no other existed.)
My husband was halfback for Holy Spirit and the yearbook called him "the sensational passer and runner." He kicked the ball to start the game and it was thrilling for everybody to see Pat standing in the middle of the line facing ACHS with his left arm in the air. The team would then slowly advance and when his arm came down he'd kick the ball--way far, always, as I remember it and oh, it was fine. In those days, they all played both offense and defense and once, Pat ran the ball 65 yards for a touchdown; my friend Pat's brother remembers that run from 57 years ago. All the girls had a crush on Pat because he was both handsome and quietly masculine, and because nobody could play until he signaled the start of the game.
I married him 48 years ago and now he's sitting there in the living room, his oxygen equipment next to him, an old man who can barely walk to the kitchen, let alone run 65 yards.