You might have noticed that in the gushing delight with which I described the Best Day of the Year in this space, I did not mention the weather. That's because the weather--unlike the pie, which was perfect--was terrible. Horrible. Really awful.
It poured all day, the kind of rain that makes you realize that maybe Seattle isn't where you want to live after all because rain is all sorts of wonderful if you can stay inside and read a good book but all sorts of hassle if you're trying to transport a full two-turkey dinner for 33 people across the street to where you will be eating that meal. And if that street is at the bottom of a hill and the intersection of two drainage streets, as the House on the Corner is, you will pretty much be stomping through the Erie Canal with that bowl of mashed potatoes.
Fortunately, there were lots of good-natured galoots who schlepped and carried and were pretty much soaked for the rest of the day. Believe it or not, they did not complain ONE WORD about the conditions.
I love my galoots.
The next day everything was ice-covered and I regretted my lack of photographic skills because the sweetgum tree off the deck was spectacularly beautiful but I couldn't document the combination of bright green, red, and yellow leaves encased in ice. I also regretted my lack of shoes as I took took the picture above because cold feet are not my favorite, even in the interest of art.
The BDotY was so wonderful that I completely forgot to gather a group that would draw out a winner in our 1,000th post drawing. So, bonus! You can still comment on that post or on my Facebook page before Sunday at noon and I'll add you to the drawing. (Remember, your choices are KNIT or NAP.)
And for the blurb: After Thanksgiving it is my practice to not cook anything for the remainder of the week. It's a sacrifice I make. At least that's what I tell Husband when he looks down at his plate of re-heated turkey and says "So you're not cooking again?" and I have to remind him that I cooked for three straight days and that averages out to daily cooking for about a month.
In the spare time that results from not cooking on Friday or Saturday, I read and read. Then I read a little more and then I catch up on my reading.
I happened to choose two books set in World War II France for my post-eating eye binge, and I am still mesmerized by All The Light We Cannot See. There is a reason this won a ton of awards, as did The Nightingale, which I also read last week.
I highly recommend both books, and if you read them please let me know so we can commiserate about how glad we are that the Nazis did not win.