The big bird, with its exotic tones, is in the oven, and my thoughts turn to what to serve and what to wear (I was asked which china pattern I'd like set aside hours ago). Choosing a cocktail to highlight for the day does take a certain pressure off mixing all those drinks. I'm leaning towards the "Irish Poet," a terrific little concoction involving black tea (recipe found on the label of the Royal Rose bottle), and for that I have some Earl Grey a dear friend sent from Fortnum & Mason. I'd like to spend my next vacation at a particular country house in Ireland, and I haven't done Dublin yet. But those are distant days, and today is one to be thankful for all that I have, and all that I am not encumbered by, too. As for what to wear to entertain the flock of sophisticates, including a Southern Belle, and an English heiress, I'm told, that will soon be arriving, I take a page from the charming memoir of Rosamond Bernier, Some of My Lives, observing life at her friend Pauline de Rothschild's chateau: "It was of course black tie every night, and for women practically ball gowns were encouraged."