Thanksgiving was a whirlwind.
We had all of our kids and grandkids, my parents, daughter-in-law and her grandparents. 18 people in all.
It was amazing, exhausting, and destroyed my back. And apparently, my right baby toe.
On Saturday, we tossed the leftovers in the freezer and went to the Smoky Mountains to spend a few days with our mountain friends.
Lizzie, AKA Mountain Girl, prepared a crown roast for our dinner. I didn’t have to lift a finger, which was convenient, because my back. Damn.
On Sunday, our friends, Lizzie and Ruel (AKA the Bass Player) have band practice with the drummer of The Madison’s, Lee.
Only they call it Church.
I went to Catholic school and went to church every morning before class.
Church in the mountains is way better.
After band practice, we got out the leftover roast and turkey for dinner.
When we were finished, I went to the kitchen to put things away. Lizzie was in the next room, but couldn’t see me.
Me: Okay, so I’m putting this leftover meat in baggies.
Lizzie: There’s a marker on the counter. Just label the bags.
Label the bags? That’s not how leftovers work. You put leftovers in bags or bowls and then put them in the fridge and leave them there until they could win a blue ribbon at the county fair for grossest thing on the planet. You throw that away to make room for the next science fair project.
Except that bag way in the back. The one just out of reach. You can’t remember what it is, something from the fourth of July maybe? Anyway, at this point, you’ve gained respect, if not reverence, for the thing shoved way back on the bottom shelf of the fridge.
You should go ahead and get that. Seriously. What could be unleashed could make COVID look like a stubbed toe.
Not to negate the misery of a stubbed toe. Even though I have no specific memory of injuring my toe, I have apparently sprained my baby toe. It’s been angry and purple for days. I think it’s trying to abdicate.
But I digress.
I grabbed the marker and wrote “meat” on the bag.
Me: Okay. It says “meat”
Lizzie: You have to be more descriptive.
Me: “Tasty meat?”
So, on the next bag, I wrote: Meat Part II. Make Soup.
Me: Okay, I labelled it and left instructions.
Lizzie: Thank you!
The only thing left was the turkey. What is there to say about turkey, just days after Thanksgiving? What could I possibly put on a baggie that would not just be redundant?
So, I labelled it “This is clearly turkey.”
Me: Turkey is labelled and put away.
Lizzie: Awesome. Thank you!
Me: It’s weird you label your leftovers.
Me: You’re never getting a blue ribbon.
Lizzie: I blame you for that.
Me: I blame you for the Delta variant.
Lizzie: Goddammit Michelle.
Lizzie: I blame you for auto tuning.
Me: It’s still weird that you label your leftovers.
So, it goes without saying, that it was a perfect weekend. I had a hard time returning to work. It seemed so silly when there were pretty mountains just a few hours away. Well, 4 hours and 35 minutes away. If I’m driving. If Randy’s driving, then it’s more like 5 hours and 20 minutes away.
We’ll just call it an even 5.
I guess it’s time to jump into the holiday season.
I’m going to bake some cookies next weekend. Perhaps, learn what a sugar plum is. I mean, I assume it’s the obvious, but I’ve never had one, so who knows?
I hope you are all safe and well. I hope your meat is properly labelled. And if not? I hope you win a blue ribbon.