Behind, but progress being made. Celery, onions, and parsley for the stuffing has been chopped--now in the fridge. The boned out hindquarter of lamb baked yesterday has been cut into cubes, just under half put in freezer bag in freezer. The slightly more than half is in a pot on the stove, with the good drippings from the baking pan, sliced potatoes, two cans of chipotle-diced-tomatoes, a slug of merlot, some sauteed chopped celery and onion, and some parsley, a bay leaf and peppercorns, in the process of becoming a lamb-potato stew that can be put in freezer containers later. Some laundry has been done; more is in the works.
Now for the baking. Bread and pies. I wanted to make that thing Ruta's mother taught me to make, but I don't know if I'll have time. There are murmurs of anticipation from guests due in tomorrow.
Over a week ago, I mentioned either here or at SFF.net a Welsh hymn we'd sung, but--not having brought home the service leaflet--I couldn't answer someone's question about it, and the only hymnal I could find that day was the 1940.
I can't now find the original post and question about it, or even if it was here or at LJ, so I'll post this both places.
In the 1982 Episcopal Hymnal, it's 610 and the tune name is Blaenhafren. All I could remember of that was "Bl." It's in the section "Christian Responsibility."
"Lord, whose love through humble service bore the weight of human need..."
Two pies are in the refrigerator: pumpkin and pumpkin-brownie-volcano. One attempt to do something creative with leftover brownie batter (very thick brownie batter) and somewhat dated refrigerated pie dough...which became an interesting art object in the oven...is--due to lack of refrigerator space--resting on a trivet of stuffing-mix packets in the large soup pot with a lid, to protect it from things that go scritch-scritch in the night.
The alarm rings at six. Turkeys go in the oven by seven. And then the fun begins (there's a little bit of sarcasm in that statement.) Guests arrive. Other food arrives with them. More guests arrive. Etc. It will all come together. It always does.