So, we are putting on our hunting clothes, although we may forgo the flap-earred, fur-billed trapper cap, and starting our search for a turkey. The Thanksgiving kind. If I can manage it, we’ll go for a turkey, with a turkey breast tucked in between the legs in the roaster – and we’ll do the jumbo legs you buy separately in a pan.
Oh, rats, I have to find the Pilgrims – the little guys who go on the table and and on a tiny Thanksgiving “tree”. Some of the Pilgrims are candles from when I was under ten years old – a chubbly little girl and boy with wicks in their heads. Maybe one day we will light them and they will burn down to their little feet. Or not. That is sort of a “no going back” action.
I think right now I am still a pilgrim . . . and that’s all right.