At my age, this probably should have already happened. Most women my age have dealt with this — and even a few men. It’s not that I have been avoiding it. It’s just that circumstances made it so it simply wasn’t a part of my life.
Now it’s here. And it’s happening next Thursday.
That’s right folks, I’m hosting my first Thanksgiving.
Somehow it seems like a rite of passage into womanhood. And like I said, by now perhaps I should have stepped up to the plate. I have certainly cooked many, many other meals. And contributed pieces to this one. But living near family it seems the women one generation above me have always preferred to own the task. I guess it’s hard to pass the baton.
Now the baton — a cooking spoon really — is passed and it’s up to me to make this holiday happen. The menu. The meal. The table setting. The whole enchilada. Well, turkey, actually.
I’m excited.
I may be jinxing myself by saying this, but I don’t think its going to be that big of a deal. Time will tell. Having heard several Thanksgiving meal horror stories from readers, colleagues, family and friends over the years, I cannot presume that I will be immune. Good, bad or ugly, I’ll keep you posted here.
And if you have a Thanksgiving horror story that is now funny to you, I’d love to hear it! We can even work some of the tales into the post-Thanksgiving post.
Until then, I’ve got a turkey to buy.
