That’s what Mom whips up on Thursday, anyway.
Christyn, Caitlin and I spend the day helping prep appetizers and side dishes while trying to keep Freddie away from my parents’ cats. The cats are ten years old and outrageously obese, and they hiss and howl at young Fred (their guest!) all weekend long. It's a weekend of education: Fred learns to fend for himself, and I learn that it’s just as much work to cook a Thanksgiving meal for six as it is for twenty. (We have only six people, and this is Mom’s lesson of the day.)
On Friday, still stuffed from turkey and the rest, I kick-start my day with an extra-big coffee and a two-hour drive to Eugene. Jeff and I watch the Ducks pummel Arizona—from the front row at Autzen stadium. The win is fun and all, but the best part? A relentless downpour warrants my flaunting an enormous yellow poncho with little green ducks on it.
Saturday’s highlights: breakfast at The Big Egg, a food cart just down the street from our apartment on Mississippi, and Skyping with family in Ireland. (The Big Egg? Makes the best breakfast sandwich of all time.)
And Sunday calls for champagne. I meet two girlfriends for bottomless mimosas and brunch at the Sapphire Hotel on Hawthorne, a quirky breakfast joint that was once a brothel. In one word: delicious. When I get home, Jeff and I continue the mid-afternoon party with more bubbly and OJ before leaving for another Thanksgiving celebration, this time at his aunt’s house in Portland: a super-fun way to wrap up our Turkey-Day Weekend!