The holidays are upon us. Thanks to my mother and my daughter, there are turkey decorations around here somewhere that should be creatively strewn and strategically placed about the house: NOW. I haven't the slightest idea where to start looking for them. Dust needs to move before they get plonked down anyway and the 209 remaining pieces of just-collected Halloween candy need a corner in which to hide.
The big silver Buick chauffeuring my parents, two large suitcases for their week-long visit, several bottles of requested booze (it's for recipes, yeah. Bourbon for the sweet potatoes and rum for something that escapes me now, yeah...) , and a thawing turkey are slated to arrive on Sunday. Before then, the house must be cleaned, homework banged out by both of us, laundry mountain surmounted, groceries purchased. Oh, and the 500 pictures of Germany Helen and I took on our trip last summer with my parents need some sort of organizing as my parents have been promised a review of them during the visit.
"They're driving with a turkey?" asks Helen incredulously.
"It won't be sitting in the back seat propped up with a book and its own window seat," I say, trying to look my part as wizened mother. "It'll be in a cooler thawing."
"Okay..."
Helen is the sensible one in this house.
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