Thanksgiving day. November 27 2025. Journal of the Day
I woke up about 9:30. Oddly, Guin was not up yet as she usually always rises before I do. So, I get up and stumble into the kitchen. I get the coffee started. I am not a guy for 'forced' jollity and so part of me is just looking forward to passing through the pleasantries of the day. It's supposed to be focused around 4 pm and thereafter...so I have some time to chill.
Flip on the computer to do my daily 'puzzles'. Guinever rises and comes and announces that Nancy has passed away in the night. Nancy is Guin's Great Aunt. Yandell's sister...she is in her 90s and lives on Battery Place in Charleston South Carolina. The news comes from her cousin, Edward. Further news is they plan to have her funeral here in Louisville.
Around 10:30, Guin announces that her friend is coming by about 11. But! aha! I know this friend and there are zero chances she will make it at the appointed time. Sure enough, we later learn she sets back her arrival to 11:45. Also, her husband has just gotten out of the hospital with a heart scare. But he is ok. Wow.
So. Morning passes. I set the cutlery out. I set up candles. A wineglass is broken. Clean that up. Load the dishwasher and wipe clean the countertops in the kitchen.
Jane finally comes over. She brings a little bowl of cranberry sauce. Guin exchanges her gifts with her. She gives a report on Gus. He got out of hospital for Thanksgiving. He's a type 1 diabetes aged 67. She reveals she did not drive him to hospital...their son, Nolan did. That seems tough. Gus was wanting to go to hospital and had to threaten to drive himself.
Isabel calls, the range at Summit isn't working. She talks to Guin and I call a bit later and they got it working.
I am trying to avoid chores. So far there have been only a few minor ones.
I am tasked with chopping onions for oyster pie and
with making the 'essence' for oyster pie.
But it's not with a straight forward "will you...(do the task) it's nine yards of malarkey and a backstory before we ever get to the point. I grumble. She threatens that "you can live alone if you want to."
So ...that's great.
So, she puts one of her father's old light jazz cds on. This small touch is an homage to the golden days when her family was alive. (in fact the whole day is an homage.) I make the essence.
Next , I am informed I am needed to edit Aunt Nancy's obituary. So, it's about a half hour to retrieve the first draft beca it gets sent via an email account we haven't used for 4 years.
Before that can be done, Guin announces she is sick of chopping oysters. I am enlisted to chop the last packet of Pacific oysters. Gross as F. Then, since doing so well at this repugnant task, I am enlisted to remove the plastic coverings for the six Cornish hens. This is, as well, a gruesome chore and sloppy because of the 'sauce' they are packed in.
So I correct the obit misspelling of our family name. Then Dave Keith asks by message for the addresses of Nancy's sons. That message gets passed on.
Guin is feeling like 4 pm is too optimistic, so calls are exchanged and the proximate hour is reset to 5 pm.
I pour myself a shot of whiskey.
bacon is fried for the sake of the oyster pie recipe. So it goes.
It is now 3:05 PM
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4:52. So, the oyster pie was made and cooked. Guin discovered she used eggs from a dozen with an expiration date in July. So, I checked and the best recommendation is to toss it. So...her response is that I need to be more helpful in cleaning out the refridgerator. Oh. Ok. It's really my fault when you think about it.
5:43. So I slapped the hens in the oven. Then I head upstairs for a quick shower. I get a clean tee and dash in with a clean shirt. Coming downstairs Martha is here. (kids on the way). I immediately explain the blow up on the corn pudding and take ALL the blame. I volunteer that it was I that fucked up on the eggs. ALL my fault. Then, on to getting the music started. The Zombies "the Look of Love" seems right on point.
8:09 pm. Dinner is finished. The deserts are coming out. Everyone is in a good mood. The boat has been righted. It's a smooth sail.
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