A Thanksgiving Fiasco Has Me Feeling More Grateful Than Ever
This is how memories are made
Everything was on schedule. Anything that could be prepped before family arriving was done. The 26-pound bird was going in the oven at 12:30 pm. The nephews would soon after peel the apples and potatoes. I’d bake the pie in the countertop oven around 1 pm, and the mashed potatoes would be kept on warm in the slow cooker. Every dish and utensil would be washed prior to the turkey coming out of the oven.
A mixture of taking on too much and not-so-ideal Thanksgiving Day time management often leaves us eating so late we don’t finish dessert until 10 pm. This year, I was determined to follow through on the promise we’d not only sit down to dinner by 5:30, but we’d finish dessert before 8.
Then it happened.
As my husband grabbed the ice chest handle to glide it out of the kitchen, a wheel got stuck. Somehow — and this will probably be a point of contention for years to come — the cooler tipped upright, sending five-plus gallons of ice-cold used brine across the kitchen floor. The brown liquid ebbed across the tile in slow motion, creeping beneath the refrigerator and pantry door. Some made it into the living room, sneaking its way beneath the buffet. Even my words seemed to come out at half-speed.
