I killed the Pillsbury doughboy

So here I am boiling my stolen pumpkin.  Pumpkins in this household have outgrown the pie plate.  One daughter likes pumpkin chiffon best.  The other siblings like pumpkin rolls — a thin cake frosted in a thick layer of cream cheese and powered sugar, rolled and chilled in the refrigerator.  And my husband likes Bundt cake the best.

There’s even a homemade apple pie for those who don’t like the color orange.

I’m in the kitchen alone.  But not really.  In my mind’s eye, I see Grandma mixing her famous pumpkin pie (the recipe I use), a little of this, and a little of that.  She never measured any ingredient and perfect every time.  I see my mom laughing as I attempt to roll a crust that actually fits in the tin in one piece.  It looks like it’s not going to happen again.  I just rolled a crust in the shape of a Great Lake.  Darn, just yesterday I loaned out my Lake Michigan-shaped tin.

I see little ones running around, stealing a lick here and there from the mixing bowls.  Oh, that one’s for real.  The grandkids are here.

Homemade noodles are scattered on the table top to try.  Mom started the tradition.  She’d roll the dough and Dad sliced them.  He’d sneak around the kitchen and tickle her when she wasn’t looking.  I inherited his pasta maker, but somewhere in the move it lost the little gismo that holds it in place.  I’m now turning the handle while holding onto the contraption with my knee. 

Flour is everywhere.  My kitchen looks like the Pillsbury doughboy exploded.

“Turkeys are such a bargain right now,” Couponman, my husband, says.  “We oughta get a few and keep them on hand.”  This translates to “there’s gonna be no room in the freezer until March.”  One takes up space on the counter, defrosting.

The sweet potatoes are waiting for tomorrow’s layer of marshmallows.  Half with crushed pineapple, and the other half without.  Yep, you guessed it, some like pineapple and some don’t. 

Tomorrow I’ll do mashed potatoes flavored with a little or lot of every dairy product in the refrigerator, stuffing and homemade crescent rolls, oy vey.  Or should I say, “Gobble, gobble?”

Happy Thanksgiving to all.

Related posts:

1. We’ll make pies
2. The cook left
3. A fruit falls from the tree
4. He’s a peach
5. Halloween on a budget