the 30-something kid’s table

Thanks to my militant internal clock – I was up before anyone else. Time in the morning to sip coffee and play with sis-in-law’s golden retriever who seems to be fascinated by the three hefty guys with facial hair who have set up camp in the basement.

Kevin’s mother arrives by 10am with a carload of grocery bags and previously prepped goodies. The matronly types get cracking in the kitchen while the “men” watch the Michigan / Ohio game, and I burn memory sticks on my nieces. I spy some of Kev’s mom’s “secret sacred turkey prepping” which appears more like a medical procedure than a culinary technique.

By mid-afternoon the house starts filling with more family and the aromas of dressing, turkey and pies.

There’s a turkey fryer set up outside which will cook one of the two turkeys for the feast. The smokers congregate outside around vat of propane-heated oil as if it was a campfire. I advise Kevin and Chad to keep back since I can’t remember what the flash point of peanut oil is.

Kevin’s brother, the middle child, is a riot to hang out with. Before the term “metrosexual” was coined, folks would think he was “the gay one”.
He’s got a lighting quick wit and is a real ham when it comes to photos. I’m finding it more fun to take pictures of him than the babies that, by this time, are peppered throughout the house.

Due to the sheer volume of people, we all eat in “shifts”. I was on second shift and woofed down two plates of food before retiring to the livingroom to socialize with the other l-triptophan induced, glazed-eyed guests.

I discovered having a digital camera and a laptop is like being the guy at the party who plays the piano. I thwart my shy inclinations to hide in the kitchen or camp out in the basement by tweaking baby photos and running iPhoto slide shows to entertain mothers. I also make mock-ads from the day’s pic-harvest. Kevin scorns me that I’m working… It’s not really work though – it’s “play work”. A party trick. A fun way to keep my in-laws fooled into the notion that I’m a cool guy.

I suppose blogging would be “too much like work” – though I would disagree. How could something I don’t do be considered work?