This Thanksgiving, it rained all day and all night. Not just drizzle, but big fat torrential rain. A mere two days earlier, it had been in the mid-sixties and I was schvitzing (sweating) in a light hoodie. Then, when the rain started, the temperature began to drop so quickly that fog lurked everywhere.
For the first time in 30ish years, I cooked absolutely nothing, and even more shocking, took nothing to the two dinner parties we went to. Who knew diarriha could be so liberating? People want nothing to do with anything you touch, and really, neither do I. And, dammit, I made that diarriha work for me, which is the least it could do having tortured me relentlessly for days on end now.
Also, for the first time in 20ish years, the Volvo wouldn't start. So shocking was this, I had to sit for a minute before I called RWC, who had just left me an hour before, and to tell him of my peril. Ofcourse, because he is, afterall, the sweetest man on earth, he drove back the 45 minutes it takes to get me.
Our first stop that evening was at the home of RWC's parents. We had smoked turkey, this really great artichoke/tomato mix, mashed and sweet potatos and lucious warm bread. Unfortunately, I couldn't enjoy much of it. It was like hell on earth, my favorite things so near yet still beyond my reach.
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