Helpster And Hinderant

Thanksgiving morning started with the handling of the turkey breast. The Pony lifted that 9-pound behemoth out of FRIG II's bottom, and brought it to the sink. He read the instructions on the label, some of which I heeded, some of which I ignored. 

I removed a rack from the oven, to make room for this tall, tall bird breast. Heated it to 350 as I cut open the wrapper, took out the sealed packet of gravy, and made sure there was nothing more stuffed inside. No neck and gizzard and heart in this one. Just a hollow cavity. 

 

I peeled some long carrots of the Ponytail Guy. I planned to set the turkey on top of them in the bottom of the roasting pan, because I have no rack. Then Farmer H got wind of it, and said he might eat them. So I had to PEEL those carrots that were only supposed to act as a rack. Of course they were so shriveled later that Farmer H didn't want them.

The Pony held the roaster pan beside the sink so I could put the turkey in it. He did the bending to slide it into the oven. He also got out the bowl for me to mix my hash brown casserole. He dug the sour cream out of the bottom of FRIG II, and found the shredded cheddar. Got the salt and pepper. And opened up the cornflakes box and shook them on top. He also slid that glass dish into the oven for me.

We were firing on all cylinders, about to dish up two kinds of olives, put the butter on the table, and get the rolls ready for baking when the time came. 

THEN FARMER H THREW A MONKEY WRENCH INTO OUR KITCHEN!

Figuratively. He commanded The Pony to come outside to HELP HIM!

 

I was taking a 30-minute break while the turkey baked, sitting on the coffee table at the front living room window. The man who had internal surgery seven days ago was seen in the front yard, unloading a metal ladder from the back of SilverRedO. CARRYING it to the porch. 

 

"PONY! Run out and help your dad! He's got a ladder in the back of the truck. He's not supposed to be lifting."

 

"Actually, I didn't see anything in his discharge papers about lifting."

 

"He can't lift more than 15 pounds! That's a metal ladder! He's going to tear up his insides!"

 

"The papers said he could resume his activities when he felt like it."

 

"OH MY GOSH! Let's sit here and debate it while he's hurting himself!"

 

Farmer H came inside.

 

"What do you think you're doing? You can't be carrying a ladder!"

 

"That ladder don't weigh more than 15 pounds. That's what the doctor said I could lift."

 

I shot The Pony a look. He has that bad habit of debating things to death. He'd probably revive a dead horse, and stand by until it suffered a relapse, so he could beat it some more.

 

Farmer H told The Pony to come out and hand him Christmas light bulbs, so he wouldn't have to climb up and down the ladder so much to get them. Because the hour before Thanksgiving dinner is served is the only time to replace bad bulbs in the string of lights along the soffits!

The Pony went grudgingly. I was NOT happy. That was my helper! I had to do the olives by myself. Get the butter ready. Simple tasks, yet more steps that I didn't want to take, rather than relying on The Pony to fetch things for me. I only have a finite amount of steps in my knees until they lock up.

The Pony escaped! He was able to get the rolls ready, and watch the hash browns to take them out. AND he volunteered to wash up the dishes so far! Then he set the table and got the glasses of ice cubes ready.

Of course, after we ate, The Pony said he was going to leave THIS sink of dishes for me. But he DID clear the table and set stuff on the side counter where I could reach them without walking around.

Farmer H? The minute he swallowed his last bite of cherry pie, he said, 

 

"I think I'll take a ride on the Gator."

 

I guess he was exhausted from slicing the turkey.