Two Dinners

 

Ed. note: Avid readers of these lame posts may recall a recent entry entitled "Thanksgiving 2023"... This post was an attempt by your disturbed author to predict a disastrous first Thanksgiving in TLOTH's lovely Stockton Springs, Maine townhouse. It was ill-conceived, poorly executed, and almost unintelligible. Kind of like a Trump press conference. What follows is the actual account of a lovely 2022 Thanksgiving dinner. For what it's worth, the author hopes your Thanksgiving was lovely as well.

The glorious sunrise pictured above greeted us on our first morning in Stockton Springs. It was Tuesday, November 22. Thanksgiving was rapidly approaching. We had two days to make this a Thanksgiving that didn't suck.

We had flown from Ft. Walton to Boston the day before. I came close to ruining Thanksgiving before it had even begun. I had placed my suitcase and knapsack on the shuttle bus luggage rack as we headed from Terminal A to the Logan rental car center. I was eager to make my way swiftly to the Budget desk so that we could procure our rental car and head to Maine. The good news was that I was so swift, I was first in line at the Budget desk. The bad news was that my knapsack never made it off the shuttle bus. I realized it was headed back to Terminal A just as the friendly Budget guy asked if he could help me.

"Oh crap." I lamented.

"I beg your pardon," said the now-less-than-friendly Budget guy.

"My knapsack," I stammered.

"What about it?"

"It's on the bus."

"Do you want a car?"

"I want my knapsack."

"Car first, then knapsack." 

I rented the vehicle while Nan checked every shuttle bus that circulated from the terminals. Seven buses later there she lay, my beautiful, battered L.L.Bean knapsack. One problem solved. But for the uninitiated, here are a few other things that can make Thanksgiving suck:

   Turkey cooked medium rare

   Too few chairs

   Anything with cranberry in it (exception: vodka)

   Actual Pilgrims

Luckily, we didn't have to worry about any of the above. Really, our only concern now was whether we could manage the grocery shopping necessary for a bona fide Thanksgiving. Would inflation, supply chain issues, chip shortages, and/or Hunter Biden's laptop result in our inability to purchase all the items on Nan's 28-page shopping list?

After driving the four hours to Stockton Springs, we were relieved to see that the usual traffic nightmares one can expect at the intersection of Main Street and Cape Jellison Road were non-existent. Instead of two cars, we only encountered one. 

The next potential landmine was a tricky one: which Hannaford's to choose: the little one in Bucksport or the big one in Belfast? We decided to go big and headed down Rt 1 to Belfast. Twenty minutes later we made our entrance into Hannaford's.

 

"Give me an assignment," I said to Nan.

"Which parts of the store are you comfortable in?" she asked.

"Beer and sour cream," I answered promptly.

"OK. Get some Stella Artois and some sour cream."

"Six pack? Twelve pack? Cans? Bottles? Light? Regular?"

"Never mind."

And so it went for the next three hours. I offered my grocery expertise while TLOTH wisely ignored me and made her way up, down, and around Hannaford's labyrinthine layout. 

Turkey size is another potential landmine that has ruined many a Thanksgiving. Too small and you're bereft of leftovers, and, as we all know, leftovers are the only reason to buy the damn turkey in the first place. Of course too big presents a different problem: leftovers until Easter. Using her exquisite math skills, Nan settled on a rare 13-pounder with three legs which proved to be a perfect, albeit creepy, choice.

 

Of course as we all know Thanksgiving is as much about FAMILY as it is about anything. We were privileged to host part of ours. Older son Josh, his wife Cindy, and granddaughter Sara were able to join us, having made their way up from the Boston area. Owing to their dog-sitting business commitments, younger son Matt and his wife Audrey couldn't make it to Maine from their home in Asheville, NC. Maybe some day they will be able to join us. Of course that will require at least one extra turkey leg.

The mood was festive not just because of the holiday, but because Sara, a recent Simmons graduate, had just landed her first "real" job at a startup in Cambridge. As we all remembered the loved ones who were absent from the festivities, we all toasted Sara's success. Goodness knows, she has paid her dues. It's wonderful to see her on her way.

This was the maiden voyage for the townhouse and it proved a worthy host for such an excellent gathering. Hopefully there will be many more joyous Stockton Springs turnouts down the road.

Now you may have noticed the title of this entry refers to two dinners. What was the second dinner? It was held two  days before Thanksgiving about as far from Stockton Springs as you can imagine. Ironically, this second dinner was held within sight of the same ocean that you see in the sunrise photo that opens this entry. While the Thanksgiving dinner in Maine was filled with love for those assembled and those missed, the second dinner was filled with hatred. Against people of color. Against immigrants. Against LGBTQ individuals. Against those who are trying to prosecute the January 6 insurrectionists. And, notably and especially, against Jews. There was so much hatred spewed at this second dinner that it spilled out onto the white tablecloth. It stained the host's long red tie and ruined his oversized blue suit. The hatred was so stark and vicious, even some close friends of the host were taken aback.

Two dinners. 

Two hosts. 

One ocean.

Two countries.

Ain't life grand for most of us.