Slowly roasting in the oven are the chestnuts for the stuffing and the bread whose top is crusting, while the pies that line the counter – lemon, mince and plum and apple – share a gleaming spot of sunlight with a heaping of delightful green beans, relish, candied yams; stacked high ladles, pots, and pans fill the sink to overflowing, as the cooks keep stirring dishes and dear uncle Albert minces with the cold, hard slicing of the knife, knife, knife.
Aunt Belinda in the kitchen is in charge of all the mixing, the potatoes and the gravy, the green salad, peas, and pastry. What’s leftover goes to Mother with her pantry prowess bared. She’s been up since seven thirty basting thick the frozen turkey while her darling husband relishes the TV’s golden glow and the giant bird is soaking in the juices all its own. Aunt Belinda shouting orders fills the kitchen with her roar while involuntary winces lurk in mother’s charming smile. Still dear Uncle Albert minces with the cold, hard slicing of the knife, knife, knife. » Continue reading this post...
