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I am hosting my first big Thanksgiving this year. It's a little frightening, I'll admit.

Last week, in the course of 12 hours, our guest list went from three to 12. This both excited and scared me.

Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday. I've always dreamed of hosting my own celebration one day. But when that dream became a reality last week, a pang of anxiety hit me.

When my husband got off the phone with his cousin and we decided, "The more the merrier," panic started to sink in. I imagined a flurry of people crowding the kitchen on Thanksgiving Day, and I pictured myself trying to whisk gravy, mash potatoes and keep the cornbread from burning, all at the same time.

Deep breaths. Deep breaths.

"If this is going to stress you out too much, then we shouldn't do it," my husband said.

I assured him, "I can do this." I saw it as a culinary challenge, a way to prove to myself that I can pull off a feast without losing my mind. Losing my mind is the key phrase here.

I stress out easily. I'm the type of cook who wants everything to be perfect, and when it's not, well, let's just say I've had some unpleasant moments of crying on the kitchen floor. So, how am I going to pull off Thanksgiving dinner? With a martini in hand for one thing. Also, my husband, the good man that he is, is cooking the turkey, relieving me of the biggest stressor of the meal. His family members, aware of my anxieties, each volunteered to bring a dish.

That still leaves me with the Thanksgiving staples. Gravy? I don't even know how to make it. Mashed potatoes? I made them once in my life; they weren't bad or memorable. Stuffing? Haven't a clue.

I consider myself a good cook. I've conquered some culinary challenges: a lattice crust for a cherry pie, rich quiches with homemade crust and buttery, flaky spanikopita. But the basic fixings of Thanksgiving dinner are foreign to me.

So, I e-mailed my oldest sister, Amanda, pleading for help. She is the Martha Stewart in my life. I've watched her bake eight different types of cookies -- you read that right, eight -- for Christmas each year and in the course of 24 hours, whip up Christmas Eve dinner, Christmas brunch and Christmas dinner for our whole family. She's a kitchen goddess.

I frantically fired questions at her. How do you make gravy? How much turkey will feed 12 people? And recipes. I need recipes. "No need to panic," she wrote. "As Martha says this time of year, 'Don't be nervous. Be organized.' "

I laughed and started to feel calmer. She wrote a page of helpful hints, which included typing up a timetable of what needs to go into the oven when and for how long (even though people will make fun of me for this); what dishes you can prepare the night before and reheat the next day; and enlisting my guests to bring dishes to free up my time and, most importantly, my oven.

How does she do it? How did my mother do it?

Every year, my mom fed anywhere from 12 to 15 mouths. We had loud, huge gatherings, the kind where the dining-room table extends into the adjoining room and where everyone talks at once so you can't make out a word anyone says. I can picture my mother in her culinary zone, apron tied around her neck, sleeves pushed up over her elbows, whipping mashed potatoes and whisking a pot of hot gravy while yelling at everyone, "Get out of my kitchen!"

Until the food was on the table and my mother sat down and took off her apron, she was a giant stress ball. She wanted no help and preferred doing it all herself. I guess that's where I get it. She was a little tense on Thanksgiving, but I never saw her shed any tears. That, to me, is impressive.

I was too young then to appreciate all the time and energy she put into making our meal so special, but now that I'm facing my own Thanksgiving feast, I know what she went through every year: waking up at dawn to put the turkey in the oven and making two kinds of potatoes, pumpkin bread, stuffing, gravy. She did it all.

During the past few days, I keep hearing myself saying, "It'll be fine." Hopefully I'll start believing that soon. But in the end, if the gravy is too watery and the mashed potatoes too lumpy, it won't matter. What will matter is being with family and giving thanks for all we have. Especially that martini.

 

Contact Carla Kucinski Seward at 373-7319 or carla@gotriad.com

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