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!
2 weeks ago