Smells of the non-Season

My twenty-three pound turkey in my twenty-four pound turkey-sized oven.

 

The last few times Sam and I have gone grocery shopping, we've toyed with the radical off-season idea of buying a still-in-stock, still-cheap, frozen turkey. But like so many ideas we’ve toyed with before, we (meaning me) never actually went through with it. 

Part of the reason for this (speaking specifically frozen-turkey-wise) is because our refrigerator is too crammed full of once food-like items of an unknown variety and an unknown age, to even think about cramming in a frozen turkey. Buying a frozen turkey might mean that I would be forced to clean out the refrigerator - or at the very least, clean out a turkey-sized spot in the refrigerator.

But last weekend we went for it. Before we left of our latest death-defying trip to the grocery store, I cleared out a turkey-sized spot in the refrigerator and we went and bought our usual, family-size twenty-three pound frozen turkey (even though our home is currently at below family-size) - and today, I’m cooking it.

As the smell of roasting turkey fills the air, a couple of things occur to me.

First of all, I think this is the only time I’ve ever cooked a turkey when it wasn’t either Thanksgiving or Christmas. I love the smell of roasting turkey but this feels a little odd and a little out of place.

Also, not being Thanksgiving or Christmas, this means I don’t think I've ever cooked a turkey when the entire family wasn’t around. Oh sure, there might have been a Thanksgiving or two when someone either couldn’t make it or at best, had to eat and run, but those don’t count.

It makes me feel very nostalgic. And when I feel nostalgic, this often means contemplating fond memories - before rapidly cascading into borderline depression.

And since I'm halfway there anyway, I decided to go all in and light a balsam-scented candle. I figure, if I’m going to be depressed, I might as well go for the full effect.