My Family Let Me Host Thanksgiving

They let me do it.  I know my mother had some qualms about giving up the reigns on hosting Thanksgiving.  But she let me do it.  And even seemed happy that she got the day off.  So much so that she told her ridiculously hot Dr. about getting the day off.  But I just wanted to put this out there that my family let me do it.

I will also take this opportunity to relieve any fears that you might have.  All of the family members that attended Thanksgiving dinner at my house are still alive and well.  No food poisoning.  No grave injuries.

And most importantly...no firefighters were called to my house.

I have a house now...obviously.  So of course, since I have my own house now, I can entertain.  So I actually asked to host Thanksgiving this year.  I had a few people over for Easter this year, and it went great.  So of course, Thanksgiving would go off equally as perfectly. 

I mean, it had to go off perfectly.  I had a menu.  And a plan.  Being the good, neurotic little triathlete that I am, I even had a schedule.  A schedule that I dared to include taking a run on.  I mean, the past few years I've taken a lovely Thanksgiving morning run.  Why would hosting preclude me from taking a run?

So perfection was my expectation. 

But what did I get? 

Less than perfection.

The morning started off great.  Actually...let's look back to a few days before Thanksgiving.  A week before, I went to the grocery store, and bought the blessed turkey.  And promptly dropped it off at my parents house.  Hey, they had room in their refrigerator, and they have the brining bucket (yes, there is a specific bucket that was purchased solely for the use of brining a turkey).  So my thanksgiving turkey was staying with my parents for a few days.  Then a couple of days before, dad and I had the most important discussion of the week:  what to brine the turkey in.  We decided on salt, lemon, garlic, rosemary, and maybe some other stuff.  So the dad took care of that, and on Thanksgiving morning, he made an early morning trip to my house to help get the bird in the oven. 

So the bird got in the oven on my brand new roasting rack.  Stuffed with lemons, garlic, rosemary, and onions.  And it immediately started smelling awesome. 

Except, almost equally as immediately, we started to hear something popping.  And we realized that the bottom of the pan was roasting already.  So I needed to add some water to the bottom of the pan.  And as soon as I opened the door of my fabulous, retro oven, the smoke alarm (which I have ALWAYS stated is hung far too close to the kitchen) goes off. 

I beat the smoke alarm until it stops beeping. 

And the dad leaves.

So I start working on putting together some of the other side dishes.  Quinoa salad.  Cranberry sauce.

And funny we should start talking about this now...because while the dad was at my house that morning, he inquired about whether I had a sufficient number of pots and pans to handle the days menu.  I figured I had plenty because I had pretty much figured out what I needed to make, and even if I had to do dishes, I still had plenty of stuff to cook in.

What we didn't really talk about was the size of said pots and pans. 

Enter: the biggest problem of the day. 

I like cranberry sauce.  Homemade cranberry sauce to be exact.  I have never made it before, but the recipe is so simple, there was no possible way I could screw it up. 

Except, I wanted to make a lot of it.  So I put the two bags of cranberry's in my largest sauce pan.  I add the other ingredients.  And I continue to put the stuff together for my other salad.

And I checked on the turkey again...by opening the door to the oven.  And once again set off the smoke detector.  I contemplated taking out the battery.

I did not leave the kitchen.

But I was busy.  So when the cranberry's started to boil, I didn't exactly have my eyes on the stove.  And it boiled over.  Which, if caught soon enough isn't a problem.

I didn't catch it soon enough.

And the next thing I know there are flames shooting out of the burner.  And I'm standing there with my jaw on the floor, incapable of moving for a few moments.  And I'm not really sure why, but the first thing I did was grab my phone and call my father.  Who, at best, was 10 minutes away.  But I thought he could provide some moral support, and maybe a tip for how to get the freaking fire to go out.

Turns out, I didn't need it.  (Except the whole moral support thing)

Why?

1) I am smart enough to know NOT to douse the fire with water.
2) The fire didn't actually burn that long, and ended up burning itself out before further action was required.

Whew. 

But as a result of the ridiculously small fire, nearly every smoke detector in the house was going off.  So I start with the one closest to the kitchen, and rip the battery out.  Then I move on to the living room, rip that battery out, and move on to the hallway.  The one in the hallway is on the ceiling.  And I may be tall, but I ain't that tall.  So I got the step stool out of the hall closet.  And smash my finger as I open it.  But I succeeded in getting the battery out.

Silence. 

Whew.

So I head back to the kitchen to survey the damage.  I look at what's left of the cranberry sauce and deem it salvageable.  But not in the pot that it is currently in.  And certainly not on the burner it was previously on.  So the only pot I had that was larger than the sauce pot was my large stock pot.  It was easily twice as large as what was needed...but I figured the chance that it would spill over would be minimal.  And it worked.

It wasn't until the cranberry sauce was actually cooked, and the boyfriend called me to make sure I hadn't actually singed off my eyebrows that I was finally able to laugh at what had happened.

Because if you can't laugh at that...Houston, we have a problem.

So the rest of the day pretty much went like this:

Appetizers were set out without incident and enjoyed by all.

I did not get to run.

Dinner was served on my Grandmother's dining table, and enjoyed by all.

My mother enjoyed said dinner so much that she immediately needed to take a nap.  While still sitting at the table. 

The cranberry sauce tasted freaking amazing.

Desserts were served.  The total number of dessert types did not out number the total number of attendees.  But it came close.

Football was watched.

Family time was enjoyed.

We discussed the very real possibility that my grandmother is still haunting my house.  If the burnt toast (grandma loved burnt toast) that I ate on the first morning in my house wasn't a good enough indicator...I'm pretty sure a recurring fire (set from the same burner, I believe) is.  Grandma, at some point when she was still cooking, but shortly before her cooking rights were revoked, set fire to something on the stove, and a new backsplash was required at the end of that fire.  

And at the end of the day, I passed out.

But, was I able to pass out that day thankful?  Absolutely.  As always, I'm thankful that I have a house that I could host Thanksgiving dinner in.  I am thankful that I have a wonderful, yet small, family that I could share the day with.  I am thankful for a guardian angel sitting on my shoulder who kept the fire from getting larger, and more out of control.

And most of all...I'm thankful that my family is crazy enough to let me try it all again at Christmas.  

Busy Season by the Numbers

Ok, I realize that I'm a little late in posting this...but post busy season I've been doing a bit of...well...nothing. 

Yes, I have been doing "stuff."  But there has also been several days of lounging about in comfy pants reading and/or watching TV. 

After spending 13 weeks on the road...I think it's allowed.  So...what was I doing while I was on the road?  Accumulating the following numbers:

Total number of days I was scheduled to deliver: 37
Total number of days I actually delivered: 36

States Visited:
Oklahoma
Minnesota (5 times)
Chicago-land (twice)
New Mexico
Indiana
Wisconsin
Colorado
Illinois (twice)
Ohio (twice)
New York
New Jersey (3 times)

Ok, so if you just added that up,  you'll see that that's a total of 20 trips.  In 13 weeks.  Meaning there were 6 weeks where I visited at least 2 states.  And one glorious week when I visited 3 states. 

More numbers time:

Nights spent in a hotel: 34

This number was fortunately minimized by the fact that I often got home in the middle of the night (11pm or later) just so I could spend the night in my own bed instead of spending the night in a hotel and waking up early.

Airline Miles:
Delta: 8427
United: 3488
US Airways: 1106
American Airlines: 1380
Southwest: 2328

For a grand total of 16,729.  I assure you, it feels like I have flown a million miles, easily.  But looking at the numbers, it doesn't seem like all that much. 

Driving...fortunately, there were several trips that were together, so in the 13 weeks I traveled, I only made 12 trips back and forth to the airport...for a total of 2477 miles back and forth between home, and the airport. 

And of course, there were a few sessions that I drove to, because it was just cheaper, and faster to drive back and forth...so that added up to 2540 miles...ish.  And that doesn't even count the miles I put on rental cars once I got to where I was going.  Which is probably another thousand or so miles right there...if not more.

Again, it seemed like a lot more miles than that.

So now that I've put the numbers to it, it doesn't look so big and bad.  But I'm still glad that those 13 weeks are behind me.

What the numbers, the black and white-ness of the numbers, what they don't tell you is that what it's actually like to live those numbers.  The countless hours of driving, in my car, in rental cars, in hotel rooms, eating take out or room service.  What amazes me is that when I tell people what I do for a living, and they hear that I travel, many people think that it's so glamorous to travel.  And that it would be so much fun to do so. 

Well...I don't mind travel.  I even kind of like it sometimes.  I occasionally get to go places that are nice to visit.  But by and large, traveling isn't glamorous.  It's dirty and lonely.  But hey, while I'm talking about being dirty...I am happy to announce that my neurosis about washing my hands kept me from getting my typical busy season/hell week cold.  Well...at least it wasn't as bad as it has been in years past.  But stepping back to the topic at hand...traveling...for work...not so fun.

What I will take this opportunity to say is that I still love my job.  Yes, I am incredibly happy that I have had a break.  But I do still love what I do. 

And that's what really matters.