Post-Thanksgiving Musings

I cooked Thanksgiving dinner this year. Nothing fancy; just a small 10-pound turkey, mashed potatoes, stuffing, and of course, gravy. For dessert, a pumpkin cheesecake. It was all from-scratch, except for the stuffing -- only because Kim vetoed my original idea of fruit-and-sausage-laden stuffing. The only guest was Kim's mother.

Friday was the second thanksgiving meal in as many days; on Thanksgiving day we went to Kim's aunt's home for their family get-together. Football, mamosas, five dogs, one cat... and mostly catered by Bob Evans. True to form, I ended up cooking in a strange kitchen. Later, Kim, Alana, her mother, and I all ended up eating at the "kid's" table off to the side -- part of the gathering, yet apart from it. The same fractured familial lines re-drawn.

Friday was the first Thanksgiving for which I've done (almost) all the cooking. My first turkey. My first cheesecake. My first stuffing. My first brown gravy. Everything turned out great, even as my mental recipe file grows with a litany of "do differently next time" -- add nutmeg and allspice to the pumpkin pie. Less salt and more citrus in the turkey brine. Try to cool the cheesecake more slowly so it doesn't crack. Sneak some sausage into the stuffing next time. And so it goes.

Friday was the first Thanksgiving I've hosted. It was a simple affair, yet instead of intimate, it felt...spartan, almost hollow -- Our already-small dining table still had empty seats.

Thanksgiving is the only traditional western holiday that's ever held any meaning to me. It's a celebration of the home, the hearth, and the family -- both blood and chosen. It is a gathering, from near and far, the larger and merrier the better.

My closest blood relative (Ayla) is a ten hour drive from here. Add another five for the next-closest one (Leyla). Miriam's two time zones away. My parents, eight. It's been more than a decade since I've seen anyone on my father's side of the family (Somerset, MA; New York, NY; Oakland, CA). My mother's side of the family (Lapel, IN) have almost all died off. I like to refer to this as The Peachy Curse -- Thou Shalt Live Where Everyone Else is Not.

As for those adopted into my family.. they are even fewer. Over the past year, both Kim and I have become social pariahs. The handful of people we'd want to include.. live far, far away. Perhaps this is karma, in its truest sense -- the people around us (or not) are those we deserve.

And as I write this, I feel ashamed. I truly have much to be thankful for. Kim, of course, and even Alana, as trying as she often is. They are my family. I'm employed, financially stable, have a roof over my head, and have power tools in the garage. I'm thankful I still have four cats, though that was tested when one peed all over my desk yesterday morning.

Also, being a pariah means that you don't have to give a shit about who you might offend with your guest list. There are some that I would have loved to share Thanksgiving with -- At the very least, Russell, Cherrie, and their daughter Marie (who calls me Uncle Solomon!) That forced social disconnect is, and always has been, my failing. I'm only as distant as I really want to be.

I don't handle being passive all that well any more; perhaps that is why I've been so grumpy lately. I haven't had much of an agenda lately, no major projects to take care of. Cliche or not, I need to build, to create. Work's traditionally been how I've let that out, but lately work's been frustratingly draining -- it's bad enough that I'm now sending out feelers, looking for alternative employment.

But that's another story for another time.

Oh, mad props to Kim for buying me a new KitchenAid stand mixer. It was promptly put to work making dirty mashed potatoes, and will undoubtedly see much use in the coming years..

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