We're all sitting on the long benches that run fore and aft, bent over by the weight and arrangement of our gear, shivering, anticipating the drop. Towards the forward bulkhead, there's a flare of light as the drop leader pops the hatch. All along the overhead, indicator lights blink from blue to amber as she waves a turkey baster at us and shouts over our commo channel, "Stand up and hook on!" The ovens are preheated and this is it! We're goin' in--
It feels kinda like that. It's been years since I did a full Thanksgiving; the usual drill was my family's off-day "bring a dish of whatever" holiday feats and my ex's on-the-day family outing to a restaurant (my own mother was scandalized by this practice when first she heard of it).
Let's see, I still need coffee, fresh mushrooms and a little bit of good bacon. (The latter two are for a foolish attempt at mushroom-bacon gravy). That, with luck, should be it; I have everything else we'll need for a meal.
It will sure be a change from my last several working days, mostly spent standing on scaffolding at the focal point of a 5-meter earth station dish, rebuilding the motorized, adjustable feed assembly, an odd combination of delicacy (the drive uses a tiny bicycle chain, with links about 1/8" long) and strength (the fixed part of the mount uses a pair of 1/2" thick circular aluminum plates about 2 feet across, holding a big waveguide assembly almost as big around and half again as long with widgetry sticking out at angles all over). Doesn't make any difference how long you cook that!
CHICAGO RAILROAD FAIR, 1948
4 days ago