Ok, the bird is on the grill, and it's wood chips are smoking. Well, not exactly smoking. Actually they're flaring up like a California hillside. The chips didn't read the smoker instructions and they thought they were supposed to flame into molten char. That's ok, the bird still cooks, it just may not be as smoky.
I put a rub on the bird and got kind of excited. Those were the first breasts I'd touched in a long time. The hen didn't get too excited, she just laid there. I guess you can't please everyone.
It looks like I'm eating much later than planned, but no later than I do every other night, so I'll be fine. I just won't be observing holiday dining hours.
In a half hour I'll flip the bird, so to speak, and then start my side dishes. So far, It's been a good holiday. The alone thing is kind of akward, but it's more like this nagging thing in the back of my head. You know, like month or so after you sprain an ankle: it's still tender, but you forget, until you misstep.
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