Are we there yet?

I'm coming to the end of my rope. I'm out of jars, for one. The lack of jars seriously puts a damper on my canning enthusiasm. As a kind concession to Patrick's sanity, I've promised I will buy no more jars. And so, this crazy season of my life draws to a close. I am down to exactly five wide-mouth quart jars, four pints, and sixteen jelly jars. Sigh. All too soon those will be filled (like, tomorrow) and shelved, and then what? Then I'll have 2008 to look back on as The Year I Learned to Can, (maybe also, The Year I Got Married?), and in five or ten years it will seem so absurd that I ever had to teach myself to can. It'll become something I've just always known how to do, something instinctual, fundamental to my Domestic Goddess-ness.

So now how am I going to fill my days? Well. Yesterday I received the much-awaited, thoroughly exciting news that I am going to be hosting my family's Thanksgiving this year! Maybe not everyone would be so thrilled, but for someone who loves to cook, and loves to entertain even more, it's heaven-sent. For someone who spends hours curled up in an armchair with a stack of her favorite cookbooks, and subscribes to half a dozen foodie blogs, the gift of hosting Thanksgiving is divine and lovely.

And an honor. Oh. Now I am taking my place in the long line of accomplished women who've hosted holidays in my family: my aunt, who is passing Thanksgiving directly on to me. My mother, who used to do Thanksgiving and Christmas both, back in the day, whipping up brioches, rolling croissants with a wine bottle, serving braised pearl onions and sauteed breaded leeks. My grandmas and great-grandmas, great cooks and hostesses all. Now it's my turn.

I'm already conjuring a menu, though the day is nearly two months away. I might be thrilled, but poor Patrick is losing his wife to a stack of cookbooks for the coming weeks.

There's a special place in heaven for patient spouses.