Thanksgiving--Part Three

So we had three Thanksgiving dinners this year:

Part One - At Brent and Nancy's house, my uncle and aunt. Really nice, with most of the Tucker family in attendance--everyone, actually, except for the California contingent and my cousin Shawn. Dang good food.

Part Two - At Melanie's grandma's house. Twenty-three people, if I counted correctly. A lively bunch, to be sure, and everyone had the best of intentions, but the turkey gave me food poisoning. Not that I blame the cook, of course, who shall remain nameless, but let it be said that she's caring for an elderly man in hospice, so she can serve a raw turkey for all I care and I wouldn't cast aspersions on her. All the same, not a fun night afterward. I won't go into details.

Part Three - Upset that I got food poisoning, I decided to cook a Thanksgiving meal for Melanie and me. I wanted turkey, and I wanted lots of it, and I didn't want to spend the night on the toilet thereafter. Thus, I bought two three-pound turkey breasts from Smiths, made up a spice rub and a maple-butter glaze, made some mashed potatoes, sauteed some onion and celery and made stuffing with it, cracked open a can of cranberry sauce--et voila! Thanksgiving dinner all over again, just in time for Melanie to come home from a hard day at the ol' library. Here's a picture of the two loveliest birds I've ever seen:

Lost and found

Last Thursday morning, I went outside to get in my car, drive to work, nothing strange. However, my car wasn't there. Nope. I wandered all over the parking lot--no Miracle Machine. Poof--vanished into thin air.

It was slow sinking in--my car had been stolen.

So I called 911. I mean, I realize it's not exactly a life-threatening emergency, but I was fed up, what with my car having been broken into twice before. Can't the police patrol our area more? It's not like that much goes on in Murray City in the wee hours of the morn, you know.

Yeah. Police come, case number issued, I call Melanie at the dentist: "Yoah cah got stoahin?" (Poor thing was having a cavity filled.) (Actually, that's an exaggeration, but you catch my drift.) She comes home, gives me her car, I drive down to P-Town.

At 1:30am on Monday morning, a plain-clothes policeman found it in Midvale--with $2,000 worth of damage on it. Alas, what was lost now is found.

Call me master.

I passed my thesis defense. Done. Over. Finito. Now I just have to do it over again--bigger and better--for a PhD, which I have yet to be accepted for, and I'll be set, provided I publish, over and over and over again.

Ah, academia. You are a cruel mistress, but I love you.