Celebrating the Saturday before left us in a quandary. Everyone else was getting ready, buying groceries, setting the table, preparing for family and friends. We were finished, celebrated, overfed, and feeling the love. There was no anticipation as the week wore on; we'd been there, done that.
It was fun while Little Cuter and SIR were here, celebrating our faux-holiday. Once they left, it ws merely awkward.
The buffet at the Country Club at the Omni Resort around the corner was a true extravaganza. JannyLou and Fast Eddie invited us to join them for a meal none of us would have to cook ourselves. Big Cuter, nursing a head cold, stayed at home. Fast Eddie's sister declined to join us. The four of us, old friends getting older, had omelets and crepes and roasted potatoes, skipping the oatmeal on the breakfast bar for the much more interesting shrimp and cucumber salad.
Lunch was on the other wall - salmon and turkey and ham and potatoes and stuffing and cranberries and gravy and green beans simmering in chafing dishes. There were so many choices, but we were in no rush. We ate. We talked. We ate. We talked. There were only four or five other tables of diners; the wait staff was bored and delighted to stop and chat. It was a good shift, with bonus pay and patrons in good humor and they'd be cleaned up and home by 3pm.
It wasn't family time, but it was pretty close.
There is football aplenty on the television, so I took the opportunity to read John Grisham's latest tome. I was outside on the lounge chairs, enjoying the sunshine, smiling to myself as I realized that December is just a few days away.
The holidays are different in the desert, without sweaters or snowflakes or rosy cheeks. It still takes some getting used to.
Is it really impossible for Americans to spend an entire day without shopping? Stores should not be open on Thanksgiving. End of discussion.
Amster and I are putting on our annual Hanukah party on Monday night. The confluence of the two holidays made scheduling a nightmare. No one wants to go out on a school night. Everyone wants to come to the party. We'll do it for three, short, early hours and send the school kids home to bed.
I'll smell of cooking oil and be covered in grease from head to toe. I'll tell the story and we'll light the candles in the menorahs we've crafted from the clay on the craft table. It will be the sixth night, there will be fifteen or twenty menorahs, and any way you look at it that's a lot of fire.
I'm so glad she's engaged to the Fire Chief.