Ovarian Storm

The night before Thanks Cousin, Aunt & I went for hot crab baked mac&cheese & cocktails at a local haunt. The grouping was a rarity, a blip in a familial line of at-times great anguish. A thing to be thankful for even before the day's designation. Thursday morning was wet & we were within in Cornwall Park as we took part in the Thanksgiving Day World XC Championships, everyone in costume with magnets as a finisher prize.

Holidays have evolved in the last few years. Living in Colorado, it was a thing to come home, a break from over-working. Packing in the tiered family like navigating through a game of Chickenfoot. Now comes the granted, the encircling of, which comes with its own form of exhaustion.

Simplifying the menu: crostini, roasted squash, whipped herb & truffle butter, no pie latticework, sweat or overthought. I had Friendsgiving at the Morrison's which was important to me because they're about to develop on a new adventure & I wanted to be saturated in the home with the dogs asleep in front of the fire, the legos in sexual positions, the viewing room. We went in with hors d'oeuvres: asian glazed wings, dipping sauces, textured breads, simmered lamb & naan, green jalapeno stuffed olives, chevre, goat, cheddar, creme, sliced fruit, home-turned caramel corn, football-themed cupcakes, a range of red wines decanting, a 3L bottle of wine. But the best: a winter ale tasting. Ber & Scott the Fox picked up the seasonals & we blind tasted, took notes, scored, ranked. Around the table we savored from chocolate roasted coffee to pine to dry to smooth. Smiling. Mama Morrison with head cold killed each sampler with an essence synonymous  to the draw that a lone woman pulls at a packed bar.

As is oft, babiez comes up. Which is mostly, "I'm never having them." Which is the driving commentary for most of my runner-buds. So when Scott the Fox sipped wine on the sofa & talked about "ovarian storms," I could not help but think that the world would be more fun if there were Morrisinner's runnin' around, a byproduct of an ovarian storm.

The day previous I'd been shot up with flu/whooping, tetanus & a blood draw. I hadn't been feeling well & the dance of immunized juices had me a little sloshed. Still, we drank good wine, mmm'd over each person's personal representation of ingredients shared, watched as Kaperdick passed to Sherman again and again. Post game the Morrison's poured a round of Fireball. We danced with the dogs & sat around the fire sipping kitten mittens, eating perfectly plump pieces of lemon merengue with peaks as luscious as a snow peak on fire.

Friday was fam-thanks in Ferndale. Flavors of candy-skinned turkey, black olives, whipped potatoes & rolls. Over scrabble & otis redding, mother kicked word-ass. So ends.