December 26, 2008
A Visit from the Ghost of Christmas Past……
I am getting ready to cook my Christmas turkey. On Christmas Eve, I had cooked a beef tenderloin and was left with several pounds as leftovers. Since yesterday was spent mooching off others, I still have the tenderloin, but I thought it would be best to cook my turkey since it’s been defrosting in the fridge since Tuesday. Personally, I would prefer to cook this turkey, slice the breast for sandwiches, and then use everything else for a turkey hash. Ah, an open face hot turkey sandwich drenched in gravy with mashed potatoes or a bone dry turkey sandwich on white bread with a glass of milk trumps the traditonal dinner for me every time.
As I was preparing my bird, I was suddenly visited by the ghost of Christmas Past. When I was removing the neck and giblets from the bird’s cavity, I was transported back to the year my mother had forgotten to do this. Then quick as a flash, I was sped ahead to the Christmas, when I went into the kitchen to check on mom’s turkey and found she was roasting it bottom up. Oh, I do miss you, Mom.
And if you wondering why Mary Stuart isn’t performing this duty, remember men sometimes marry women who remind them of their mother. After our Christmas Eve dinner when I had surveyed how much beef tenderloin was left, I asked Mary Stuart if we could finish the beef tenderloin Christmas night rather than having the turkey dinner she had previously planned. (Guys, I hope you know by now this is a decision you don’t call an audible on without permission!) “Well, let’s just decide on that tomorrow morning” she replied.
Knowing that I couldn’t expect anyone up at this household until probably ten a.m. yesterday and cognizant that our first engagement yesterday was around noon with a return home at 6 p.m. or so, I matter of factly responded, “You do know it takes about 4 hours to cook a turkey?” Anyway, in about 3 hours the house should have that wonderful turkey cooking aroma. I bet that will wake everyone up here. Merry belated Christmas.
Over the last few days, I have spoken to some of my financial services buddies. Stock jockeys is what I call them. To a man, (sorry, I don’t know any woman stock brokers), they all complained about how beat up they feel - what a rough 2 months it has been and all the hand holding they have be doing. 