TBW Daily Diary

BOB'S THANKSGIVING

* My Favorite Holiday *

Let me tell you how I usually celebrate Thanksgiving . . . First, I get two feasts. (I do like to eat.) On Wednesday evening I prepare a special ham dinner for Ronn and me. (Ronn does not eat turkey!) . . . Then, on Thursday, I go up river (not over) and through the woods to my brother and sister-in-law’s house where the entire family congregates. I’m loaded down with a cooked ham (a different one), my own frozen corn, and ranch dressing crackers. When I arrive, Jacquie, my sister-in-law, has taken the turkey from the electric roaster and Dave, my brother, is cutting the turkey with his lethal looking electric knife, putting it back into the roaster to keep warm . . . Others arrive loaded down with various foods. After a flurry of last minute preparations, we all sit down at one big table groaning with food—ham, turkey, mashed potatoes, candied sweet potatoes, three kinds of stuffing, two vegetables--to name a few. Dave says grace and then we eat and eat . . . We tease Jerry, my niece’s husband, not to mistake the salad dressing for gravy and pour it over his potatoes and stuffing as he did one year . . . Then it is clear the table and load the dishwasher for its first of many loads . . . and on to dessert—pies, cakes, cookies, and usually something gooey and extremely fattening. No one has any room for dessert, but we eat anyway . . . Now it’s football/nap time and tales of hunting—after all, deer season begins Monday—all under the watchful eyes of those deer heads staring down on us . . . By mid-afternoon when I have burped enough to be able to walk, Trish, my niece, and I along with any young kids who want to tag along, go out into Dave’s woods to collect greens for holiday decorating. By the time we get back from our trek people are thinking about eating again . . . There is nothing better than cold sliced stuffing slathered with cranberry sauce and topped with sliced turkey. There is a lot of “I can’t eat another bite,” but we do. Then we help clean up a bit and begin heading home with the admonition to watch out for deer . . . This is MY Thanksgiving . . .