Happy Thanksgiving to all my American friends. To all my other friends around the world, happy Thursday.



My most vivid Thanksgiving memory is from when I was around 12 years old. All 10 of us (by that time, No.1 Sis had moved out and gotten married) piled into our big station wagon to make the 3 hour trip to Grandma and Grandpa’s house in Iowa.

Mom and Dad must have gotten up in the middle of the night to start the turkey, which was then transported in the roaster and wrapped in newspaper for insulation. I love turkey now, but after smelling it for 3 hours in a crowded car back then, not so much.

I loved visiting with G’ma and G’pa. I loved the big feast and all of the potatoes and bread and pie. Yes, I’m a carboholic from way back. After dinner, the adults chatted and the kids played cards and board games. No parade. No football.

Eventually we’d convince Grandpa to take out a black marionette he’d carved, and G’pa would make the marionette tap dance to music on the radio. Now I know that’s racist, but back then…

I sneaked piece after piece of pumpkin bread throughout the day. Damn, I still love that stuff!

We stayed until evening and then made the 3 hour drive back. The prime passenger seats in the car, in order of preference, were the front seat between Dad and Mom, the back seat at the windows, and the small cargo area way in the back, where you could lie down and sleep. I got half of the floor of the back seat, in the foot well.

By the time we were nearing home, Mom and Dad were bickering over something, and I was getting very car sick or possibly, too much pumpkin bread sick.

When the car pulled up in the driveway, there was a frantic race for the only bathroom. I lost. I ran to the kitchen sink and threw up. Dad and Mom were there, one on either side of me yelling at each other, “Now look what you’ve done!” “This is all your fault! You’re making the kid sick!”

I cleaned myself up, left them to their argument, and went to bed. All night, visions of pumpkin bread danced in my head.

Today, I’ll go to No.1 Sis’s apartment, where she’s reserved the party room. We’ll have all the foods that we traditionally have, like turkey, mashed potatoes, homemade bread and pumpkin pie. I’m bringing the green bean hotdish, you know, the one with the french fried onions on top. My low-carb regimen not withstanding, I’ll indulge in potatoes and stuffing and hotdish and pie.

There will still be no football and no parade. And definitely no tap dancing marionette. And I’ll try to keep the pumpkin bread consumption within reason.

Stay tuned…

I linked this post to Cozy Little House.

And Classy Clutter.