Here we come a-wassailing

a mug of wassail

I’ve been cooking for three days.

Tomorrow, there are angel biscuits and an apple pie left to bake, then meringue to top off the coconut cream pie I made today. A glazed ham was baked earlier, and my Mister will deep fry two turkey breasts about an hour before we all sit down for dinner on Thursday.

My beer fridge in the garage is packed with casserole dishes of green beans, sweet potatoes and cornbread dressing, along with a banana spice cake. Some snacks are crammed in the fridge too for pre-dinner noshing.

It’s after 7 p.m. on Thanksgiving Eve, and I can finally sit down.

There is a steaming mug of wassail on the side table, and I’ve put my feet up and laid back on the couch.

This time tomorrow I hope to be in a blissful, tryptophan stupor, and everyone else washing dishes.

I’m grateful for:

1. Planning ahead
2. Disposable cookware
3. Two refrigerators
4. I’d be more grateful if I had something stronger for my wassail than apple cider.

365 Days of Grace


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