Thanksgiving is my absolute favorite holiday of the year. The only purpose of this one is that you get together with family and friends, talk about how lucky you are, and eat. That’s it.
And there’s pie.
First, you make your way through the relish tray of olives and pickles and carrot and dip, and spend as much time around as is decent on the shrimp, while you’re talking about eating the big meal.
Then you eat the big meal while the pies are baking, and you’re talking about eating dessert. As in, “I’d better leave room for some of that pie.”
Then, you’re clearing and washing and getting ready to eat said pie.
Then you’re sitting around talking about the whole thing after you eat the pie.
It’s a beautiful thing.
I’m spending my holiday with Lily and her family, because they asked. And I volunteered to work on Friday and felt like I could do without the drive. Plus, I was told there’d be pie.
We get there early in the evening, and after introductions and hugs, a glass of wine is pressed into my hand. Lily’s parents live in one of those great old Spanish-style homes built in Beach Park in the 1920’s. They told me it was a “boom” house and that the people building it had to fight off Indians. Anyway, they’ve lived there since the 60’s and added on, and I’m in complete awe when they tell me that they did most of the work themselves.
So, the dinner was awesome, and the promised pie was perfect. I made it home by about ten and came away from the whole experience feeling like I was so lucky and smart to have such great friends.
It’s so weird not having a million things to do. I’ve pretty much caught myself up in the office, well, as much as I ever am. I have to make some phone calls after the holiday weekend for the thing at the university. Other than that, I’m at loose ends. I mean, my garage is clean. What else is there to do? I’m feeling like I need a hobby…