turkey

The arrival of the turkey. 12 pounds, 3 ounces.

I’m not one of those fancy, talented people who brine a turkey and make apple-walnut stuffing, though I’m very envious of those of you who do. At some point tomorrow, I’ll do it the way my mother did … washing it, pulling out the neck and packet of turkey parts, taking sticks of butter and coating the inside of the bird and out, jamming it with homemade stuffing and waiting the three hours or so until the little red thing pops out.

The non-fancy side items will include mashed potatoes, corn, more stuffing, rolls and Jello pie. I’ll have leftovers for a week. This pleases me.

Though my preference really would be to be in West Virginia with my family, this is not a bad second place at all. And it gets me practice in the poultry-handling department so down the road when my parents are a little older, I can easily whip out a turkey like it’s my job.

And, sadly, I’m just looking forward to dinner Friday night — grilled turkey and stuffing sandwiches.

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