I went back today and there they were, the remaining five turkeys (free range, fresh) for those rare Americans shopping at Canary Wharf who actually cook from scratch. (It's a financial hub, full of ready meals and people who work until midnight.) And now I feel smugly well prepared for Thursday, just another ordinary work day for most, but a day of feasting (after a bit of work) in my household.
Apropos of Thanksgiving,
printperson arrived safely here this morning. We went to the Velazquez show, dealing with the mobbed throngs until 5:30, when museum announcements started to clear the crowds. We backtracked to the first few rooms, all decadently empty, good for getting much better views of the larger canvases especially. I particularly love his handling of pottery, how human-made and vividly imperfect it is. "The Water-Carrier of Seville" was a standout for me; the accompanying text critiqued the artist's nascent handling of the human form, how statue-like it is. For me, that's why the painting is so effective - the human figures work as background to the objects, the crystaline water, the water vessels. You know how I have regular small world moments in my life? Hers are far more extraordinary. I'm not sure I've ever been to a major exhibit in London with her where she didn't happen to run into someone she knew visiting from another country.
