Pairs Paint Pears

Pear, markers/water

 Snow showers on Black Friday, Georgia and me warm in the kitchen chatting non-stop, sketching lemons and pears on the countertop. In the great room, Ellis napped and Son #2 read Dostoevsky in front of the fire. We were recuperating from the ordeal of cooking our first turkey in years the day before. While the bird came out okay, I really thought we would have to rush my brave lad to the emergency room for burn treatment where I would be arrested for abuse.

Georgia's contour sketch

I am not skilled when it comes to working a baster. While attempting to subtract the great amounts of liquid that had filled the roasting pan to near over flowing, I kept losing some before I got the tool over the receptacle. The boiling mix of olive oil, butter and turkey fat splattered and dribbled all over the oven door crawling into spaces  meant to be kept dry and narrowly missed the bare arms of my darling son who was supporting the oven rack for this fumble-bum cook.  To everyone's relief, the ordeal passed with no harm done. The oven, however, wasn't as lucky.  It needs a professional cleaning. The  turkey, which was technically half poached/ half roasted,will never be made again in this household. It came out fair, but scared me to death and whacked us out of running any Black Friday sales marathons.

While others stormed the malls, my daughter in-love practiced her contour drawing. I dabbled with markers. We discussed the depths of shadows and from the warmth of the scrubbed down kitchen watched the winds blow and the snow showers coat the street with black ice. We were going out to dinner no matter what.