Because I'm just too lazy to type it, here's what's on the menu for Thanksgiving.
As you can see, the planned Cranberry Pie became an Apple Pie (or, probably 2). The recipe I tried this weekend didn't work out. I'll try it again in a week or 3, adjust the sugar by a huge proportion, and then report it to you. No sense wasting everyone's time during holiday preparations.
And here's what we're eating the rest of the week. I don't go off the schedule here, because I'd then have to crawl under the table and hide, being unable to regain my bearings.
And, in case you wonder, here's the list of what the restaurant supply house will be bringing. No frozen veggies this time; I just can't deal with them.
The Wall Street Journal reviewed a new book called The Meaning of Home this weekend. In her opening paragraph, reviewer Elizabeth Lowry said, in part, "The idea of a house probably began with the roof...The medieval invention of the chimney, which replaced the simple oculus, or hole in the roof, that previously served to vent smoke from the domestic hearth, was arguably the next most important architectural innovation, followed closely by the precursor of the modern floor...."
My parents moved a lot. An absurdly large number of times, truth be told, for no reason. So the only place I can consider "home" is this house. And I want my children to forever think of this big white house when they speak of "home". That's part of what Thanksgiving is all about: home, family, friends and food.
And, to answer Karin's question, I'm probably feeding 16 for Thanksgiving, although that could go as high as 19. That's not too bad, by my standards.
And the Apple Sack Pie was from The United States of Pie Book, an omission pointed out by Karin.
So, tell me, what do you think of when you say "Home"? And what does Thanksgiving mean to you? My very best Thanksgiving wishes to all of you, even if I don't get back here for a week.