Sunday, 7 October 2012


A 22 pound dead bird covered in cheesecloth sitting atop a bed of Yukon gold potatoes lay still inside the oven.  Poor bird.  He lived a full life only to be murdered so a party of 17 can be fed as they celebrate what they are most thankful for. 

On this day, I run on a time and tested schedule.  In an hour I need to take the cheese cloth off the bird and switch the pan around. In 2 hours the potato gratin and sweet potato casserole will share oven space, while I concoct my special gravy, which every year seems to be the first to go. 

Close friends and family members will start arriving in 5 hours.  At this time I am ready to hit the bed, change into my jammies, and have the sweetest sleep of the year after being up at the crack of dawn.  But I don’t.

I manage my exhaustion with a nice hot shower, fresh clothes and a red lipstick.  I put on a smile and allow the women take over the kitchen as I consume my first cold bottle of Corona.

This is my Thanksgiving.  It started one year when the combined powers of Martha Stewart and Katie Brown came over me and I decided to host dinner and give thanks for my countless blessings.  My daughter’s godfather in his drunken state and happiness volunteered my house and my dishes to everyone and declared it an annual Thanksgiving tradition.  It has been 8 years.

I am exhausted.  Every year I vow that it is the last Thanksgiving dinner I am throwing.  I stare at the dead bird, and feel sorry for its demise. I silently thank the bird for allowing me to celebrate this tradition I have come to both detest and embrace. 

A dead bird is what I am grateful for this year.  And I contemplate on other unexpected things I give thanks for:

1.       My son’s uncanny ability to comprehend sarcastic humour and his perfectly round buttocks.  I am also amused at how at age 6 he can casually talk about my death and his plans thereafter. He makes me laugh, my son.
a year old

2.       My daughter’s dry wit, her brilliance and beautiful curly hair.  Most days she assumes the role of mother in my household.  When stressed, she vacuums the living room. And at 8, she still proudly shouts ‘I love you’ at school drop off in the presence of her peers.  I still rule.
3 years old here

3.       My unforgettable birthday party at Attivo this year.  People who matter in my life back in Manila all gathered one night and partied with me as I turned technically old.  I sang “The Warrior” backed with a punk band I adore.  Best night of the year.  Hands down.
Shooting at the walls of heartache.. bang bang!

4.       My MacBook Pro, iPhone and Google.  The biggest life lesson I face nowadays. Brought on by these.  I love it.  I abhor it.  But am very thankful.

5.       Three Little Birds by Bob Marley. Who needs a joint when 10 seconds into this song, I'm in my happy place.  Panic attacks be gone.

6.       New and returning bebsycakes clients.  I am still amazed I make people happy with how I do my cakes.  Cakes!

7.       Maria and from-the-gut laughs we share because of random stupid conversations only she and I can understand and appreciate.  Best girlfriend someone like me can have.

8.       Jon Stewart and his gifted writers. Why I LOL at 11 at night.

9.       My kick ass artisan Kitchen Aid mixer.  It deserves a thank you.

The oven dings.  It’s time for me to pour a bottle of Guinness on the dead bird.  This is my secret ingredient.  Makes for a killer gravy too.

I hope the next year brings forth more blessings that will make a 20 pound bird worth killing for.

Bye bye, birdie.

He's not amused, is he?


  1. You don't need to feel sorry for the dead birds. They've fulfilled their life's mission by ending up on the dinner table next to the yams and mac and cheese.
    No offense meant to animal rights group members following your blog. :)

  2. maybe a vegetarian spread next year to ward off your guilt and guests? then you'll get your peaceful thanksgiving! LOL

  3. Not a bad idea at all, Sim.

    Olivia. I hear ya!

  4. Very nice. I enjoyed this piece. -Nic