For me, Thanksgiving is generally a happy holiday. Growing up, Thanksgiving Day was a big affair in my family. Mom always made a feast fit for a beast, and sometimes we'd spend it with friends or my grandparents. Yessir, I do love me some turkey, as well as most of the associated dinner trappings. Above all things, I consider Thanksgiving a time for friends and family (not to mention eating well). Since I am the last of my original family, Ms. B. and I always try to host the folks from my "second" family whenever they can make it. Dick & Martha Wickliffe were my parents' best friends since not long after I was born, and my brother and I grew up alongside their kids, Gretchen, Todd, and Scott. Martha died some years ago, but Dick is still around, and today, he, Gretchen, and Todd came over to feast on some dead bird with us.
We fix ourselves a pretty good pile of food—a big honking turkey, mashed potatoes, dressing, cranberry relish, rolls, and cheesecake (all homemade, of course), and the Wickliffes brought a green bean casserole. All this was accompanied by a couple of bottles of a decent Pinot Noir. So, no, we did not starve, and we followed dinner with a couple of hours of solid family time.
Afterward, the trypofans set in. Brugger napped, and I kicked back in the recliner and spent about an hour and a half writing this short little blog.
It's gonna be a mellow night.
