I Can Have My Turkey and Eat It, Too

It's all about birds this week

I cooked myself a turkey on New Year’s Day. Thanksgiving was a distant memory, I wasn’t home for Christmas, and dang it, I wanted a holiday dinner, so I made myself one.

While the house filled with the delicious scent of roast turkey, I watched the University of Oregon Ducks get slaughtered in the Rose Bowl. The commentators were awful, and it wasn’t a great game, but I do enjoy watching football, one of my late husband’s obsessions.

I woke up that morning with a migraine, even though I did not party on New Year’s Eve. Lately, I sleep badly and frequently wake up as one big ache. It takes a couple hours to start feeling human (doctor appointments later this month). After playing the piano at Mass (yes, on New Year’s), I put the turkey in the oven and contentedly celebrated by myself. I sang along with my Pentatonix Christmas album one more time, put away the Christmas sheet music, had a nice phone visit with my brother, and watched the game, trading Facebook comments with friends who were also watching.

At six o’clock, I lit a candle, said grace and feasted on turkey, stuffing, gravy, vegetables, and cranberry sauce. I didn’t feel lonely, just blessed, especially considering the news elsewhere.

I bought the smallest turkey I could find, but I still have enough leftover turkey to fill four containers, three of which went into the freezer. I discovered cooking a turkey dinner for one person dirties as many dishes as cooking for twenty, without the fun of having friends to help clean up. But wow, that dinner tasted good.

In other news . . .

Yesterday, I learned why my ivy-riddled arborvitae hedges have been looking so messy. Paula across the street called to tell me the elk had been right there in my driveway eating the ivy. Sure enough, when I looked out, eleven lady elk were moving toward the field next door. I wished them a good morning and happy new year. They looked at me like I was nuts.

This morning, they were back, dozing in the field at dawn. Apparently, English ivy is a favored winter feed when fresh fruit is out of season. Fine by me. I don’t want the ivy, and I enjoy the elk’s company.

Speaking of company, Paula’s rooster got into my yard the other day. A gorgeous rust-colored bird, he’s not too smart. He must have flown in, but he spent hours staring at my chain link fence, unable to figure out how to get out. It was pouring rain, and he didn’t think to take shelter in the woodshed a few feet away. When I opened the gate and indicated he should go that way, he went the other way. Over and over again. Meanwhile, his brother was crowing like crazy across the street.

After dark, Pat and Paula and I, all seniors stumbling on my uneven ground, spent an hour in the rain trying to shoo that rooster out the gate. Finally, Pat got close enough to drop a net over him and carry him home like a soggy football. I haven’t seen that rooster since.

What have we learned?

• You can make yourself a holiday dinner any time you want, whether it’s Thanksgiving, New Year’s, or an ordinary Tuesday. Who’s to say you can’t or that you have to make it the way other people do?

• You might not be as alone as you feel.

• Elk eat ivy, and roosters are dumb.

Thank God the holidays are over. What changes will we make in 2025? How will we use our precious solo lives? I guess we’ll figure that out together. As always, your comments are welcome.

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Photo AI generated. I gave myself a headache trying to set up my new iPad, so I let the robots take over, but they will never do my writing for me.

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How did I end up alone? My first marriage ended in divorce. My second husband died of Alzheimer’s after we had moved to the Oregon coast, far from family. I never had any kids, only dogs. Now I live by myself in a big house in the woods. You can read our story in my memoir, No Way Out of This: Loving a Partner with Alzheimer’s, available now at your favorite bookseller. Visit https://www.suelick.com for information on all of my books.