Went to T's house for Thanksgiving.
The windows were appropriately decorated by child hands. A joint effort, however, I suspect L,
the resident artist, had some input. Fall leaves have blown into the background. A
profitable kid job waiting until another day.
The table has been decorated with artwork and poetry from days gone by. Each lovingly saved by a proud mom.
The resident artist made place cards, each with a different picture. The card titled Grandpa Don, made a new step-grandpa feel accepted. It was personalized with a cowboy hat placed atop the turkey's head.
Mine reflected my love of all things nature.
I have had a lot of fun writing Thanksgiving stories at poor C's expense. This year there was no amusing story to write—no turkey left inside the trunk of the car to spoil in Texas, no turkey left inside an unplugged refrigerator in the garage, and no nearly raw turkey resting in a pool of blood. This year the turkey was perfection, moist and tender.
The usual pie contest had to be postponed until Christmas this year, but we had pie anyway. Cherry and pumpkin. With ice cream, of course.
While food is prepared, we are entertained with piano music.
As always happens on Thanksgiving day, the TV is turned to football and we all groan and cheer at the appropriate times.
Of course Gus has to have a few snuggles.
Food, fun, and family. The best way to spend a holiday.