A Variety of Thanksgiving Tables for Your Consideration
Off we go to St Luke’s! With the busyness of this week, I delved into table archives at Back Porch Musings.
These tables will work for Thanksgiving, even though some of them have not one Turkey in sight.
I’m gathering this and that for our 2014 Thanksgiving. This year, I am setting the scene in the breakfast room, around the farmhouse table.
We will have family, here at our home, the Sunday before Thanksgiving. Because that is a mere 11 days after J’s surgery, we are preparing early and easily for the feast.
Over the river and through the woods, children and grandchildren will travel to our home. On the way, they’ll stop by and pick up a delightfully delicious Thanksgiving dinner, with all the trimmings, packed to go. This G’ma is not going to be standing over a steaming pot of boiling potatoes, nor is she sticking her head in the oven, checking pie, dressing, and turkey. Yes, G’ma and G’pa plan to sit before the fireplace and enjoy the entertainment of very bright and talented munchkins.
As for these plans we’ve made…
To a Mouse
BY ROBERT BURNS
On Turning up in Her Nest with the Plough, November, 1785
Wee, sleeket, cowran, tim’rous beastie,
O, what a panic’s in thy breastie!
Thou need na start awa sae hasty,
Wi’ bickerin brattle!
I wad be laith to rin an’ chase thee
Wi’ murd’ring pattle!
I’m truly sorry Man’s dominion
Has broken Nature’s social union,
An’ justifies that ill opinion,
Which makes thee startle,
At me, thy poor, earth-born companion,
I doubt na, whyles, but thou may thieve;
What then? poor beastie, thou maun live!
A daimen-icker in a thrave
’S a sma’ request:
I’ll get a blessin wi’ the lave,
An’ never miss ’t!
Thy wee-bit housie, too, in ruin!
It’s silly wa’s the win’s are strewin!
An’ naething, now, to big a new ane,
O’ foggage green!
An’ bleak December’s winds ensuin,
Baith snell an’ keen!
Thou saw the fields laid bare an’ waste,
An’ weary Winter comin fast,
An’ cozie here, beneath the blast,
Thou thought to dwell,
Till crash! the cruel coulter past
Out thro’ thy cell.
That wee-bit heap o’ leaves an’ stibble
Has cost thee monie a weary nibble!
Now thou’s turn’d out, for a’ thy trouble,
But house or hald,
To thole the Winter’s sleety dribble,
An’ cranreuch cauld!
But Mousie, thou art no thy-lane,
In proving foresight may be vain:
The best laid schemes o’ Mice an’ Men
Gang aft agley,
An’ lea’e us nought but grief an’ pain,
For promis’d joy!
Still, thou art blest, compar’d wi’ me!
The present only toucheth thee:
But Och! I backward cast my e’e,
On prospects drear!
An’ forward tho’ I canna see,
I guess an’ fear!
In other words, we may all end up at Olive Garden!
That will be fine too!
As long as we are together.