Thanksgiving eve on Third Street. I visited with my friend on the first floor who is having 14 people over for the feast.

I watched her whip up a pumpkin pie, a pecan pie, and cranberry sauce. while we drank wine and covered a free-associative spectrum of topics.

Daughter and her two kids swirled around noisily.

My friend was wearing a woolen cap because she lives in fear that someone will find a hair in her cooking.

She’s serious.

She told me that, as the day progressed, her husband kept calling with word of more  guests. What started as a small family Thanksgiving had evolved into crowd scene. Too many for her table. Worried that her 13-pound Food Coop turkey might not be enough. she had to add pork loin, ribs, and turkey wings to the menu.

Earlier, she phoned one of the guests, a good friend, and took her up on her offer to bring gnocchi and polenta with sage and butter sauce. "We need more food," she told her.

I think she’ll have enough food.

Sitting and chatting in her apartment she seemed anything but worried about Thursday’s feast. The meal was coming together slowly dish by dish.

The wine was helping.

She asked me if she can borrow chairs. "Of course," I said. We’re having Thanksgiving in a West Village restarant with 21 family members on my mother’s side.

We won’t need the chairs.