I made a sweet potato casserole for the first time ever. I followed the recipe…as closely as I ever follow any recipe. Apparently I done good, because it got gone fast. All of it. I was amazed, and terribly flattered. There’s no better compliment to a cook than a scraped-clean bowl.
But I’m getting ahead of myself. I made the casserole Wednesday so that I could take it with me Thursday…because I spent Thanksgiving Day with John and his family. I’ll admit to many bouts of nervous-y stomach butterflies and a moment of two of “where do I go, what do I do” awkwardness, but it all faded quickly…..and was dispelled completely by some well-placed sarcasm on the part of John’s dad. The whole day was picture-book perfect, and way too full to try to put everything down here. I met a lot of fantastic people, got the Whirlwind Tour of Fayettville (in the ‘vette! wtih the top down! woo!!), and I think the mood of the entire day can be summed up with a little conversation I had with John’s mom, just as we left. She asked for the recipe for my sweet potato casserole…
“Well, you can email it, or just give it to John to give to me or….I’ll tell you what. You just bring it with you when you come back.”
And then there was Friday. Black Friday, as it’s called in the retail world. This year was…amazingly painless. Seriously. Last year, I closed…and made it out of the store around midnight. This year? Walked out the door at 10:15. And the same thing happened Saturday night. Frankly, I am still in shock. Happy shock.