Women Work!

I made dinner tonight. First time I've ever hosted a holiday dinner. Now, that might not sound very impressive, but, as a woman who's done some damn impressive stuff (e-mail me if you want the resume, but suffice to say I've wended my way into three of the Who's Who In American __________ books), I have to say, making dinner took more skill, patience and planning than many of my accomplishments.

A nice dinner, not particularly impressive. My grandmother would have been gracious and lovely, but not the least bit impressed. A stuffed turkey, mashed potatoes, homemade cranberry relish, brussel sprouts, green beans, a salad, some 'fresh' (Pillsbury) bread. Someone else handled desert. My grandmother would have made hordorves (and I don't even know how to spell them!), at least 4 green veggies (2 with beautiful sauces, 2 'just' steamed for the healthy folk), and probably 3 different kinds of potatoes (mashed, scalloped and sweet potatoes), with 2 different kinds of stuffing (maybe 3--one in each end of the bird and a third one baking in the oven) and a homemade pie. Or 3--pumpkin, lemon meringue and pecan so everyone had their favorites.

How the hell did she do it? Just trying to time everything so that each hot item happened to hit its peak temperature at the exact same time when I only have 4 elements and one oven and everything takes longer or shorter and you can't overcook or undercook anything would take the planning of a lawyer. I literally took out a pad of paper, wrote everything down, figured out the order, checked each thing off as it was done and put little stickies in the serving dishes to know what would go where. And still, I forgot about gravy, undercooked the bread and overcooked the green beans.

One top of it, my grandmother was a paragon of patience. PATIENCE!!!! In the midst of holiday cooking, she always had the perfect task that would let me help (yeah, right a 7 year old in her beautiful kitchen helping)--she must have planned them out the night before. I could safely peel, polish and stir without supervision. "Sweetie--I forgot to polish this, and you are so good at polishing--would you please?" ) I nearly yelled at several family member by the time the night conclued. "Please! Let me have my kitchen to myself?!" I felt like I must be channeling unknown women from generations past, but they all knew what they were doing and did it with such grade--it seemed effortless and fun!

After everyone had gone, and the kitchen returned to normalcy, I spent half an hour washing my table cloth. It is about 70 years old. Hand embroidered--white on white linen. All along the edges, about 5 inches in, is a geometric pattern, then another rectangle further in, then beautiful flowers. My grandmother embroidered this. It must have taken hundreds of hours, and there are a few places it is falling a little apart. Stunningly beautiful. Such love and care and skill. I never even realized someone had to clean the tablecloth, not to mention embroider it. She never had a 'career.' I asked once what she did during WWII and she said "just a housewife--I wasn't one of those interesting women." I adored her, but for someone that hates being taken for granted, I'm stunned by how much I took her for granted.