While there's no such thing as a four-day weekend here in honor of the pilgrims and Indians, I, too, stuffed my face with turkey on every American's favorite Thursday of the year, in the relished company of 8 other displaced Americans (and one Irish imposter, but we love her anyway). Our resourceful host managed to land us a 12lb bird, basted to perfection with the help of some lab pipettes. We feasted potluck style, with all of the signature Thanksgiving dishes spread before us on the table before quickly disappearing into our bellies: turkey, stuffing, gravy, potatoes, green bean casserole, rolls, salads - even homemade cherry and pumpkin pies with ice cream.
Tears were considered but un-leaked during our circle of thanks, and the laughter and conversation were just what the doctor ordered for a home-away-from-home holiday. We even did the family photo...although not on my camera.
The one good thing about Thanksgiving being a working day, and having dinner at 8pm instead of 1pm, is that there's no need to fight the effects of that tryptophan afterwards. Just roll yourself home, and let the slumber come.
(Well, kind of. Dad and Kay and Mitch and Gram and Rachel and Aunt Marcia and Uncle Joe called around 11pm, and the lot of us proceeded to crack up together over for the next half hour. Hugs to the family!)
The one good thing about Thanksgiving being a working day, and having dinner at 8pm instead of 1pm, is that there's no need to fight the effects of that tryptophan afterwards. Just roll yourself home, and let the slumber come.
(Well, kind of. Dad and Kay and Mitch and Gram and Rachel and Aunt Marcia and Uncle Joe called around 11pm, and the lot of us proceeded to crack up together over for the next half hour. Hugs to the family!)
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