With Thanksgiving nearly upon us, and my shopping list made, it’s time to hearken back to days of yore, and those godawful forced gatherings of our collective youth.
Some things are universal. There was always (at least) one relative who drank too much, and (at least) one who didn’t drink enough and was wired tighter than an actuary on crack. Maybe someone used the meal as a therapy session and maybe another took notes for future grievances.
Is it starting to sound familiar? We’ve all been there.
The first time I was old enough and tough enough to say No and spend the holiday with people I enjoyed, was revelatory. With few exceptions, I’ve never looked back.
Middle age brought tranquility, and the confidence of being able to cook well enough to provide abundant deliciousness for my loved ones and any dear friends who may grace our table. I now look forward to Thanksgiving with the contentment of a Hallmark card and the zeal of the Food Network.
So, although I can’t help thinking of my distanced relatives, I merely wish them well and get on with what matters: the all-important decision of what to make for dessert on Thursday. My adorable mother doesn’t like pumpkin pie. At the moment, it looks like caramel-apple-pecan cake, but that could change. Delightfully, la belle Tsarina will be here too. Let me know if you’d like a chair. There’s plenty of everything.
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1 comment:
I wish I could be there. Alas, I am enduring the universal Thanksgiving you mentioned early in this post. I usually by pass this as well (unless I am the host, in which case the crowd is so huge, no single person's bullshit can dominate). However, this year upon begging from other family members, we will endure.
Hope you have a great day.
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