Our two older kids look as though they wouldn’t mind going along, but I like the idea of Dennis and Dad being off on their own for a change. Dennis’s folks live down in Nova Scotia, and they’re not the sort that gets together anyway. A few times Dennis has tried taking Dad to hockey games, but it’s not easy for an older man sitting so long on those hard seats. He always looks forward to the New Year’s Levee. Today he’s brought along his suit on a hanger and his white shirt and tie. He changes just before they set off, and on the way they drop the kids off at the rink.

The afternoon is slow and dozy, and the sun pouring in through the front window makes me feel sleepy. I settle down on the chesterfield and read an article in the paper about the right kind of clothes to wear for job interviews. I’ve read this same kind of article a thousand times, but I still need to read it, something makes me. Not too much jewelry. No sandals. A well-made suit in a neutral tone is still the best bet, with a muted scarf for a feminine touch. That’s as far as I get before dropping off to sleep.

I can’t have slept for long, maybe three-quarters of an hour, but when I wake up I sniff the air for the smell of goose and don’t smell anything. I head straight for the kitchen, and sure enough the oven’s barely warm. So down I go to the basement to check the fuses, but they’re all in order. Then I put on my oven mitts and jiggle the element at the bottom of the oven, in case it’s worked its way loose. A corner of it looks black and slightly shriveled. This happened once or twice before, a burnt-out element, but not on a holiday, and not when I was cooking an expensive goose.

My first idea is to carry the roasting pan over to Sally’s and finish it off in her oven, but then I remember that she and Purse are out for the afternoon. And all the other people around here are using their ovens for their holiday dinners. I consider what would happen to the poor old thing if I tried cooking it very slowly on top of the stove, maybe pouring a little wine around to keep it from burning. It would probably get rubbery, or else stringy. Boiled goose doesn’t sound like much of a dish. But at that moment, luckily, Dennis and Dad come through the back door.