It’s the day before Thanksgiving and all through the house, not a creature is stirring, not even the cats. And for the servant of two feline overlords under four months, that is an unusual occurrence. They’ve already even stopped trying to tear down the Christmas tree that somehow ended up put up in our living room earlier today (don’t ask; I’m generally anti-Christmas-before-Thanksgiving, but I didn’t have a say in this one).
The turkey is in the roaster and the ham is in the oven. The giblets have been boiled to make stock. Now all that really needs to be done is to fish out the giblets and store them and the stock in the fridge. I also need to go baste the turkey again.
My brother and his girlfriend should be here sometime soon. I’m still waiting for word on Southern Honey’s sister and her husband; they are supposed to drive in tonight, but I haven’t seen hide nor hair of them yet. If I haven’t seen them in the next hour, I’ll give Southern Honey a call and see if he’s heard from them.
I should be working on my novel, but I’m just feeling kind of wrung out. I got some work done on it today while I was at the Chinese restaurant waiting for the food I picked up to serve for dinner, though, so the day isn’t a total loss. I need fewer than 10,000 words to finish, and I know I can make it up over the weekend. I just like to keep plugging away at it.
Really, though, I’d just like to curl up with a glass of wine and sleep, but that won’t happen for a while. The sleep, anyway. I might still get that glass of wine…