It is Black Friday morning, and as I sit here writing this, I am reflecting on Thanksgiving, dipping a perfect piece of mandelbrot into my perfect cup of Peet’s coffee, all the while listening to Arlo mutter about Alice, Fasha and Obie.
Black Friday has been a mixed bag so far. Despite awakening in a food, drink and sleep induced fog, I had a great, though eye opening, both literally and figuratively, workout on my Tonal. I took advantage of a Black Friday sale by buying more Peet’s coffee. I bought some bagels. I ate breakfast. And now I am sitting here reflecting, dipping and sipping.
On the surface, Thanksgiving was perfect, or in the context of my thoughts last night, piefect. It marked a return to normalcy after last year’s small, muted, stunted celebration. We had 14 people for dinner, which may have been a record for us, including our kids, son in law, grandchild and many members of Pam’s family. Everything worked perfectly. Everybody contributed. Everything was done on time. All expressed our gratitude. No one yelled or argued. Portia was happily running around, talking up a storm, and eating lots of pie. Every thing was perfect. And, shockingly, nothing was amiss. Or so it seemed.
I have been taking the lead role in making Thanksgiving dinners for about 20 years. It is a role I never envisioned for myself when I was younger, but one Thanksgiving I told everyone at the table that I was doing the cooking the following year, even though I had never cooked a turkey in my life. It’s worked out pretty well, and no one wants me to stop. It has become a labor of love.
But labor it is. I refer to Thanksgiving as my version of The Longest Day. My day has evolved and my work load has lessened over the years, but it is still stressful and a lot of work. It starts Wednesday evening with pie making, something I am a relative novice at, having made fewer than ten pies in my life. But apple pie defines Thanksgiving, so that is what I make. And this one was damn near piefect, even though I felt it was going to be less than piefect as I fumbled around making the crust and getting it into the pie plate. On Thanksgiving day I make the hors d’oeuvre dish, a vintage egg paste that is an homage to my late mother, Helen, and requires a Foley Food Mill, an anachronistic device I watched my mother use over sixty years ago. Then it’s on to making the turkey, the turkey stock and giblets (wing tips, not neck or innards) to be used in the gravy, the creamed spinach and, last, and most assuredly the most difficult dish to get just right, the gravy.
Thankfully, I have lots of help. Shelby made the stuffing. Kim made the salad and a healthy version of cranberry sauce she made from scratch. Bryan made the macaroni and cheese. Pam continues to make the yams, which are the not candied in the least, the mashed potatoes and the green beans. Andrea and her family, bring a pumpkin pie. Mitch and Dale bring Dale’s pecan bars and drive down from San Francisco. Lois makes and brings the aforementioned mandelbrot and brings Sees candy.
I went to sleep last night feeling great, tired and full, but great. As I was working out this morning and doing a set of iso split stance chops, a fiendishly difficult exercise, it dawned on me that I had sinned yesterday. My sins were not sins of action, but they were sins of omission. And our Thanksgiving was not so piefect after all.
First, and less importantly, I apologize to Arlo Guthrie, as I failed to listen to Alice’s Restaurant yesterday, thereby making Thanksgiving day less piefect, which is why I was listening to it this morning. Alice’s Restaurant is a funny song, but it is also a protest song, a song which is more significant now than it has been in decades.
Second, and much more importantly, and why I am writing this with tears in my eyes, I apologize to Onesimus (smallpox), Edward Jenner (small pox), Louis Pasteur (rabies), Max Theiler (yellow fever), Thomas Francis (influenza), Jonas Salk (polio), Albert Sabin (polio), Maurice Hilleman (measles), Richard Mulligan and Paul Berg (recombinant dna technology), and Katalin Kariko (mrna technology), because I omitted to thank them for developing ground breaking vaccines or technologies which have led to the development of the covid vaccines. I apologize to Donald Trump and Mike Pence for failing to express my gratitude with respect to their efforts in initiating and managing project Warp Speed to combat covid. I apologize to all the scientists around the world, who worked on the development of the covid vaccines, for failing to thank them for their tireless efforts on our behalf. I apologize to Dr. Anthony Fauci and Dr. Scott Gottlieb, who spoke the truth throughout the pandemic, for failing to thank them for their honesty, knowledge, communication skills and professionalism during extremely turbulent, stressful times. I apologize to Joe Biden, Kamala Harris, Gavin Newsome, and Eric Garcetti, who made the distribution of the vaccines a national, state and local priority, for failing to mention their leadership in getting the infrastructure mobilized to get the vaccines distributed. Lastly, I apologize to all the doctors, nurses, support personnel and volunteers who spent inordinate amounts of time putting shots in our arms.
As I finished my set of iso split stance chops, I was stunned, not to mention somewhat disturbed. While we were waxing poetically last night about our gratitude over our return to normalcy, our collective health, our happiness to be with family, and our joy at consuming massive quantities of piefect, fat laden foods, I did not adequately thank those many who provided the foundation for our piefect evening. Sadly, I did not even note my failure. A failure I will ensure never recurs.
Happy Thanksgiving.