Of Sausages, Block Cheese and Family

It's 11:45 a.m. on Thanksgiving morning, and I'm hiding in the living room while my parents stuff the turkey. A disagreement appears to be ensuing over the amount, type and consistency of butter to be used to bronze the bird.

"You need softened butter, not melted butter!"
"I've been baking turkeys for 20 years. When's the last time you baked a turkey?"
"Oh my God. I'm going to have to kill your father now."
"Don't do it that way! Stuff it in harder! You need more room to stuff it in!"

As my mother observed, if it weren't Thanksgiving, the neighbors might wonder about these exchanges.

Not that my neighbors care. I awoke at 7 to an argument approximately three houses down. In typical holiday fashion, a couple flung names so completely inappropriate for this family-oriented blog that I cannot repeat them. Happy Thanksgiving!

Mom and Dad arrived Tuesday night with most of the ingredients I'd told them previously I would purchase myself. This included several links of pork sausage, unwhipped heavy cream with bourbon and a large block of cheese. Have I mentioned my fear of consuming produce that has traveled via an unrefrigerated cooler for hundreds of miles and crossed several state lines?

Joke as I will, I'm thrilled to have my parents here. I bought orange Gerbera daisies for their room and filled the cupboards with things they like but that I don't eat: bagged popcorn, almond biscotti, canned vegetables. I like hearing conversation on the other side of the wall when I fall asleep at night, and it's nice to have someone who understands my insanity as well as I do.