Who holds a Thanksgiving feast on a Monday night in late October? We do, and the bowling ball that is my stomach this morning is proof of our dinner.
Six weeks ago, our daugher-in-law, Kim, invited two Dutch women to our Monday-night family dinners -- social worker interns in the Bridgeport school system, where Kim is a social worker. We immediately loved these sweet, smart Dutch women, who have joined our Monday-night group ever since. Last night was bittersweet: They are going home this Friday, so in their honor, we decided to cook a Thanksgiving dinner.
We also added to our guests list: two more of the Dutch interns (there is a group of a dozen or so who have been studying here), and one set of parents, who came to see New York City and take their daughter home. So there were 12 of us.
And what a feast it was. Lots of laughs, lots of wonderful food, lots of stories. It was a night none of us will forget for years to come.
But of course you know what Thanksgiving dinner means: butter and more calories than I probably should have consumed this whole week. And right now, having all the leftover food in my house is really scary.
But I promise that by 9 a.m., I will formulate a plan, call Jack to tell him what to do with all the goodies, and come home knowing the pies will be gone -- or at least hidden -- as will assorted other goodies I really should not touch.
If I don't, this just could set up a week of bad eating. I CANNOT AFFORD TO DO THAT.