Twenty-Six
MY ALARM GOES OFF AT 4:00 a.m. As I reach to turn it off, I am immediately aware that it is Thanksgiving morning.
To be honest, this has been a bittersweet day for me ever since my Dad died. Christmas belonged to Mom and Sonya, but Dad and I ran Thanksgiving. For as long as I could remember, he and I would look for the biggest turkey we could find at the supermarket. After thawing in the refrigerator, Dad would brine the turkey in a mixture of kosher salt, brown sugar, and a variety of herbs. We’d get up at this time every Thanksgiving morning to take the bird out of its bath, rub it with canola oil, and stuff the cavity with apple, onion, rosemary, and thyme. We’d put it in the oven, then we’d start the other food. I still remember how the house filled with the aroma of roas
