Making Memories

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It’s all about making memories, don’t you think? It’s not about the food, though sometimes it seems like it is.  It’s not about how the table is set or how recently the floor has been vacuumed. I’m certain Martha Stewart would disagree, but she’s not invited to my home today.

When you get right down to it, it’s all about making the memories. It is about who is there with you. It is also about the things you enjoy doing together. That’s how I found myself in the all night grocery at 4:00 am this Thanksgiving morning.

Some young people who are currently still sleeping soundly, wanted to make monkey bread for breakfast. This was not in my plans. For good reasons it wasn’t in my plans as I only own one oven. Three hundred and sixty-three days a year, one oven is more than adequate in my house. Two days a year it is an annoyance. Especially on Thanksgiving the turkey takes up the entire oven. I checked the bundt pan size for the monkey bread and tried to fit it into the oven with the roaster pan. No go. So last night when they pleaded I held my ground.

However, when I woke up at 3:00 am I started thinking about those memories. It isn’t about the monkey bread, it’s about cutting up the dough and taking turns shaking it in the bag until the sugar and cinnamon coat it all around. It’s about smelling it bake and pulling it apart piece by piece. It’s even about licking your fingers to savor every drop of the gooey topping. Yeah, it’s about the memories.

That’s what took me to the grocery at 4:00 am. I told the sales clerk my story as she scanned my items.  It feels like you need to explain a middle of the night quick stop at the store. The cashier had time to listen. The only other people around were stockers placing large plastic wrapped sale items in the middle of the aisles full of the Black Friday items which really go on sale today (Thanksgiving) at 10:00 pm.  ??   When I told her it was all about the memories, she said, “Well, take pictures so they’ll be SURE and remember it.

Great advice. I rushed home to put the turkey in extra early. We may have to remove it for a bit while the monkey bread bakes. Is that even healthy? Don’t tell Martha.

Then I put out the trash. Our trash pick up day is Thursday, very early morning. Every year my husband says he doesn’t believe they pick up trash on Thanksgiving thus saving himself the trouble of putting it out on Wednesday night. Every year I say, “Yes, dear they do pick up the trash on Thanksgiving. Remember last year?” He argues the point. He argues a point any time he doesn’t want to leave the recliner to engage in life.  It works for him. I hear the trash collectors in the neighborhood now. God bless them for working on Thanksgiving so I don’t have to smell for a week what I just removed from the turkey this morning.

Now I need to find that camera to record the monkey-bread-memory-making for posterity. Uh-oh. I wonder if it needs a fresh battery?

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