Life of Wry

Turns out Thanksgiving in Florida is kind of exactly like Thanksgiving just about anywhere I’ve ever had it. Mostly.

You got your Thanksgiving day electrical project:

Your football:

Your too many cooks in the kitchen:

That would be Connie, Justin, Elisa, Jim, Emmy, Alexis, Marty and Figaro.

And then we have Emmy, the most casual of cooks:

Your napping:

(I have the best napping picture ever, but promised not to post it to my blog. I’ll leave it to your imagination, but it’s great.)

Your favorite holiday dishes: I got to make my favorite cranberry sauce, which I might have to admit I’m addicted to:

You make whole berry cranberry sauce more or less the usual way, but substitute OJ for water and add some orange zest and rosemary. Killer.

Your group-around-the-table shot:

Jim, Jim Sr, Elisa, Justin, Connie, Alexis, Martin, Emmy, Teresa and Peter.

And maybe another because it’s hard to see faces in the table shot:

The patriarch, his three kids, a wife, a daughter-in-law and a grandson.

And of course…your desserts:

…which, because it’s both a birthday party and a traditional Thanksgiving day feast, include the lowly (but exceptional) pumpkin and pecan pies–made this morning–and a pair of not-so-lowly birthday cakes… a five-layer red velvet chocolate cake from the Fountainebleau and the aforementioned three-layer German chocolate cake made last night.  This whole scene reminded me of a Thiebaud still life.

~ ~ ~

And I’m not kidding; everyone went to bed at 9:15. It’s just me and the dogs… me working under a single kitchen table light in an otherwise dark house… Melanie by my feet and Figaro snoozing in the shadow.

Night. Zzzzzzzz…..