The bones are picked clean. There's nothing left, except the remnants of a once fabulous or tolerable meal in the fridge. Family and friends have gone home, for the most part, or perhaps an occasional one or two will linger. The cook collapses in a chair, marveling over the feat of his or her creation, or what went wrong.
Then there are those of us who left the cooking to another and ventured into the unknown and accepted a most gracious invitation. The meal was wonderful, the company divine and the whole day more relaxing for the simple fact that we were relieved from kitchen duty for the first time in years. For just that alone, we are thankful.
We've come home to a cold kitchen and an empty refridgerator, still glad to have, for once, been free of the hectic cooking of the one day of the year we are required to coordinate an impossible number of dishes at once. A year to breath, catch up on rest and look forward to Christmas.
Hmmm, it was close to perfect. I almost made it, free of the fixings and fixing. Yet now a turkey sits in my fridge, waiting to be a late Thanksgiving feast tomorrow, just so we can partake in those wonderful leftovers and turkey sanwiches.
What is this, you ask? Simply this. The ramblings of a fool who thought she had gotten away. Alas, my kitchen awaits.