But I don’t clean

(The title’s just a little play on words for my sister, Cyberspace Sarah.)

Brent and I started hosting Thanksgiving at our house — well, I think shortly after we moved into this house. I’m thinking seven years. I wasn’t working at the time and Colin was pretty well behaved, so I had everything set up royally in advance. I had place cards. I had hot hors d’oeuvres. I had a “sherry table.” It hasn’t even been quite that good since, but people still come, so I imagine it’s doable.

This year we will be hosting 23 guests. I have two turkeys thawing right now. We like to brine, so I’d better get going on that. I love the cooking part. I make a truly tasty chestnut stuffing — which sadly gets turned down by most guests in favor of Stove Top. Go figure. I make it anyway. I love all that.

I HATE cleaning. How can I put this so you’ll understand. What is the point of housecleaning? Please take a look at the photo of my great-grandmother in the upper right hand corner and understand I come by this very honestly. That is a woman at the turn of the century who lived on a farm and had farmhands and children to feed and clean up after . . . and yet she has found time to sit on a couch she has made for herself in the woods and read that newspaper or whatever it is.

I think most of my friends and loved ones understand this about me. We don’t live in a dirty home or a home where you’d need to fear for your hygiene, but it’s really not particularly tidy. This is the one time a year I chase the spiders out of their homes in the corners and go after the goo around the faucets with a toothbrush. Yuck. So boooooring.

But by tomorrow night it will be over and I’ll be eating a big plate of chestnut stuffing. Hooray!!


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