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Story and Photographs By Sunny Lockwood
” the blog at Sunnylockwood.com .Copyright 2009 Merikay McLeod All Rights Reserved First electronic publication in “Onword.
placed the delicately flowered Czechoslovakian China. This particular Thanksgiving. I began to feel my own heart filling with gratitude. moving gracefully from stove to refrigerator to counter top. Sweetheart Al and I had our kitchen duties organized like a well-choreographed dance. caned chair strategically around the table.By our seventh Thanksgiving. I prepared mashed potatoes. He took charge of the turkey. Earlier. green beans and the ambrosia fruit salad. . we had laid out the dining room table together: smoothed the soft. I’d arranged the side table flowers. And I loved the way we worked. Soon our guests would arrive bearing homemade pies and vegetable side dishes. As the fragrance of baking turkey filled our large country kitchen. and placed hot pads on the buffet. put out the various platters and bowls. pale green table cloth in place. Al considered the kitchen his private domain. Most weekdays. dressing and fresh cranberry-orange crush. He’d made them yesterday and they sat. but on Thanksgiving we worked together to prepare a delicious feast for our friends. sweet potato casserole. antique silver and crystal goblets from his great grandmother. sat the antique porcelain candleholders at either end. finally. Al had made yeast-based dinner rolls from scratch. plump and fragrant in a large freezer bag on the counter. sat our high-backed. and. We had a pot of spiced cider simmering on the stove.
” And I quickly scooped up the pecans. I sat their contributions on the serving tables and handed each a cup of warm spiced cider.” I said. the extra pan of dressing he’d stuffed in. Al sat the fat. “I’ll take care of it. and as he pulled out the large bird.I had done nothing to deserve a perfect and happy life. Our stove. Still. each carrying a platter. he found a way to squeeze in the extra pan of dressing.” he said. but I could tell he was concerned.” Al said as he checked the turkey again and poured its rich bating oils over it. I began to mash the potatoes. Al’s face whitened as the cheery conversation halted momentarily. perfectly browned bird on the carving board. as they all stood around the kitchen visiting and laughing. . Then. flew out. spilling stuffing like a bridal veil across the kitchen floor. noisy crowd. Another dish held a mountain of mashed potatoes. “I’m going to put an extra pan of dressing in now. but that’s exactly what I have. which looks like a 1920s range. in our ideal home (which he had designed and built). Just concentrate on what you’re doing. I spooned steaming green beans into a serving dish. The tension subsided. Al was making gravy on the stove. but a pretty small oven. “Don’t worry. The brown bird looked perfect to me. with a kitchen full of delicious food and soon a house full of good friends. bowl or pie plate. Here I was working side-by-side with my perfect soul mate. “It’s taking longer to bake than it should. has a very large cook top. It landed with a loud clang. cranberries and breadcrumbs and tossed them in the garbage. Our guests arrived all at once in a big. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Al open the oven to check the turkey again. stirring it steadily until it thickened. as he pushed a pan covered with tinfoil in and to the side of the baking bird.
So I turned to the ambrosia.I started to place the dinner rolls he’d baked yesterday in a wicker basket. I hurried to find another basket and pack them in. And suddenly. I smelled smoke. so you can yell at him. Al started carving the turkey.” One of the men said. “Just blow it out. My arms full of rolls. Quickly our friends took their warm cider into the living room and continued their lively conversations.” he said with an ‘Are you nuts?’ sound in his voice. “Don’t get the rolls wet. their mouths silently agape. Flames more than five-inches high were leaping from it. That seemed strange. What could be burning? Al opened the microwave and pulled out the wicker basket full of dinner rolls. He ran for the sink.” “I can’t blow this out.” he said. He turned on the faucet as I grabbed for the rolls. “Could you please open the door so we can air this out?” I asked. “And maybe you could all go in the living room for a few minutes. huddled together near the patio door. laying the thick. That’s when I noticed our guests. trying to save as many from the gushing cold water as I could. their eyes large and round. Smoke filled the kitchen. juicy slices of white meat on platters. Then I walked to the dining room and began placing the various bowls of food. “They need to be warmed. taking the basket from my hands.” I said.” “Yeah. The wicker basket and its cloth napkin fell in great black ashes into the sink. spooning it into a bowl embossed with gold. the kitchen was empty .
We both burst out laughing.” I repeated.ly/EQbWb To read more of my writing. I looked across the kitchen at Sweetheart Al who was studiously slicing the bird.except for the smoky stench and the cold November air rushing in from the patio. I don’t twitter much) . “So I can yell at you. his blue eyes held mine with a kind of serious amusement.com Befriend me on Facebook: http://bit. Glancing up.com/sunnylockwood (But I must warn you. go to: sunnylockwood.ly/sunnylockwood Follow me on Twitter: http://twitter. ### To read more of my blog posts. go to: http://bit.