As I write this, it’s the morning after Thanksgiving and the sun peaks over the far side of
Lake Winnipeg. Streaming shades of pinks and oranges swirl across the pale sky. Its simple beauty fills me with peace and reminds me of how lucky I am to be a 'flatlander.' Like the wheat fields, the lake seems to go on forever; our own inland sea. The vastness makes me feel free…I’m a prairie girl to the core.
As my gaze leaves the calming vista, I glance around our tiny beach house and my inner peace wobbles. Thanksgiving debris covers every surface. A few stray forks lay on the table, entwined with the fall-leaf garland. Scraps of orange and silver foil wraps, from the mini-pumpkin chocolates my daughters insisted were tradition, litter the carpet. I know that the kitchen holds more turkey feast casualties. The gravy pan, casserole dishes and cutlery have sat all night and will have food cemented on them harder than Plaster of Paris.
14 for dinner last night meant an “all hands on deck” all day prep for Cottage Carmichael, with the most crucial question hanging in the air.
Like the list-making, over-analyzing planner I am, I sketched out a 5 step plan.
It went a little like this: