Lucy's Journal

November 26

Well folks, it’s the day before Thanksgiving, and you’d think we were preparing for a royal banquet instead of a simple family feast. As usual, my crew has turned what should be a calm, organized day of cooking into a full-blown circus.

I rolled out of bed this morning to the smell of something burning—not unusual around here—and found Benny standing over a smoking skillet. He proudly announced he was “testing” different ways to cook cranberries. Not cranberry sauce. Not cranberries in a dish. Just cranberries. In a skillet. Popping everywhere like red popcorn. The kitchen looks like a Jackson Pollock painting.

Meanwhile, Trudy spent the whole morning polishing the good silverware. I tried to explain that we don’t even have good silverware—just the mismatched forks we’ve collected from yard sales—but she said, “Presentation is everything.” She also tried to iron the paper napkins. Yes. Paper.

Hank volunteered to take care of the turkey, which immediately made me nervous. Last year he tried to deep-fry one in a trash can and we nearly lost our eyebrows. This time, though, he swears he’s doing it “by the book.” I’m not sure what book he’s referring to, but the turkey is currently thawing in a bathtub full of warm water and rubber ducks. I don’t have the heart to tell him that’s not quite FDA-approved.

Molly and Pete were in charge of dessert, and I have to say, I think they did the best so far. They baked three pies—pumpkin, apple, and something they’re calling “mystery surprise.” I asked what the mystery was, and they just smiled. I’m… concerned.

The highlight of the day had to be when Benny and Trudy got into an argument over whether stuffing should be cooked inside the turkey or in its own pan. The debate escalated until Benny tried to crawl inside the oven to demonstrate his “hands-on approach,” and Trudy chased him around with a wooden spoon yelling, “Not in my kitchen!”

By evening, the house smelled like cinnamon, turkey seasoning, burnt cranberries, and chaos. But somehow, amidst all the mayhem, it felt warm—homey, even. Everyone was laughing, planning, bumping into each other, and doing their best in their own… unique ways.

So as I sit here writing this, sipping a mug of hot cider, I can’t help but feel thankful for my ridiculous, lovable crew. Tomorrow’s feast might be a disaster, a triumph, or something in between—but it’ll be ours.

And that’s something to be grateful for.

– Lucy