That's Life: Turkey Day's Better Late Than Never
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I had spent a wonderful but exhausting week with my daughter and her family on Long Island and when I returned to Williamstown, writing projects were waiting for me, then tooth troubles sent me to the dentist a few times.
Struggling to accomplish all that I needed to do, I sometimes worked until 4 in the morning. There were times that I was so wound up by the time I fell into bed, I was unable to sleep. After tossing and turning for an hour or so, I gave up hope of surrendering to slumber and crawled out of bed.
As for meals, I could be eating breakfast at 6 a.m. or noon, and I took lunch and dinner whenever hunger pains struck. Some nights, I would not finish eating dinner until 11 p.m. and, since I know from experience that it is unwise to go to bed less than three hours after consuming a full meal, I would stay up until the wee hours of the morning, again.
It was a vicious cycle, I could not break. I was like a baby who has the days and nights mixed up.
I never thought I would say this but with the hours I was keeping, I was glad I was not expecting company on turkey day; nor was I fit to be a guest at anyone's Thanksgiving table. For one thing, I might embarrass myself, dozing off at the dinner table and my head landing in the cranberry sauce. How often I had heard my mother tell of my falling asleep at dinnertime as a baby and immersing my head in the bowl of soup on my highchair tray. Although I sent Thanksgiving greetings to friends, I did not want to answer the question, "What are you doing for Thanksgiving?" I could have made up some story — such as I'm cooking for my two children, who in reality were to spend the holiday with their in-laws, but telling untruths is not my style. And if I unwittingly revealed I would be alone on Thanksgiving Day, I knew at least one of my friends would have insisted I spend the day in her home with her visiting relatives. To avoid all that, I laid low, just about living like a hermit.
For as far back as I can remember, I have relished every bite of turkey on my plate Thanksgiving Day. But it would be foolish to cook a turkey just for myself so I decided to make a simple meal.
As I shopped in a certain food store in which I was sure I would not bump into anyone I knew, I found the turkeys displayed in the meat section beckoning to me. I could almost detect the mouthwatering aroma of turkey roasting in the oven. Too, I was beginning to feel guilty about not eating turkey on Thanksgiving Day — it seemed unpatriotic.
So, I bought a turkey breast. "It's all white meat, except for the wing," said the butcher. At home I deposited the turkey breast in the freezer. Before going to bed Thanksgiving eve, I transferred the turkey breast to the refrigerator to thaw.
I woke at 11 on Thursday morning and, in keeping with family tradition, I turned on the TV to watch the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade. As I ate breakfast, Santa Claus made his entrance, riding on his sleigh.
"Hmm, how long will it take to roast the turkey breast?" I asked myself when Santa went on his merry way, and the parade came to an end.
I have not roasted a turkey in a long time, and I have forgotten much of
whatever I knew about preparing one. So I consulted my cookbooks. According to the one my Aunt Irene gave me as a bridal shower gift more than 40 years ago, turkey should be roasted 25 minutes per pound, but the cookbook my ex-daughter-in-law gave me when we were still related by marriage, recommends turkey be roasted only 15 minutes per pound. (I have removed from my home any evidence of my former daughter-in-law's existence, except for the cookbook. I wonder what a psychiatrist would read into that?) When I opened the refrigerator door to retrieve the turkey breast near 1 o'clock, there it was on the shelf exactly as I had left it, and I mean exactly - frozen as an iceberg.
Ravenous at 4 o'clock (my stomach is so confused it has lost all sense of time) I ate a sandwich, but it did not satisfy my appetite or my sweet tooth, so I devoured a piece of pie. Yes, it was the apple pie I had bought to complete my Thanksgiving dinner.
Five hours later, the turkey had yet to thaw, and I realized it was too late to roast it anyway. That is, unless I sat up all night and ate it for breakfast.
Anyway, I was hungry again. Thus I experienced another first in my life: a hamburger and a microwaved potato
and carrot for Thanksgiving dinner.So, I was not one of the millions of Americans who ate leftovers the day after Thanksgiving. I was enjoying a complete, freshly cooked turkey dinner.
There was no wishbone, of course, in the turkey breast, but nonetheless I am wishing that I will be able to return to a more normal routine before Christmas rolls around. I have big plans and certainly do not want to go into hiding then. Or ever again, as a matter of fact. After all, I am a people person.
