celebrating

Yes, I know Thanksgiving was almost a week ago, but we had such a good holiday, and I haven't quite gotten it out of my mind. Besides, people are still asking me, out of politeness and as an icebreaker, how my Thanksgiving was so I'm inclined to document it here.

We spent a wonderful day with Steve and Lisa, some of our oldest friends (as a couple, that is). John and Steve, who knew of each other at Mac, which is to say they recognized each other from classes or parties, became friends while hanging at Dunn's after they graduated. They were apartment mates when John and I started seeing each other, and I remember quite clearly when Steve met Lisa. Their two beautiful daughters and our boys, beginning with M (10), are each 18 months apart. Occasionally, I will have the girls over for an afternoon and fantasize about what it would have been like to have had four children, evenly space in age, perfect balance of girls and boys, all playing harmoniously. Friends are more likely than sibs to play harmoniously, a scientific fact I have known since I was eight years old and desparately wished that my best friend Ann was, instead, my sister. Actually, I wanted her parents to be my parents, too, but I digress. On a note about sibs, Steve has none and Lisa is the youngest of thirteen. Talk about having different families of origin.


We've spent many Thanksgivings with the Cohen-Murphys. And, though there are countless stories—like the year we grilled the turkey and it cooked so fast that we never had time to make the mashed potatoes, which was just as well since there weren't any pan drippings for gravy—suffice to say, Steve and Lisa helped us celebrate the first Thanksgiving in our first house so there's always a special place for them on our Thanksgiving dance card.

This year our hosts roasted an organic, free-range turkey from northern Minnesota, and served mashed potatoes, comforting sweet potatoes (simply roasted with onions, olive oil, salt and pepper), and green beans and Brussels sprouts tossed with bacon. John and I contributed Southern Cornbread Dressing from the 1957 Columbus (GA) Junior League Cookbook (my mother in law's recipe) and my Grandma Hattie's pumpkin pie (we boosted the spices by adding cinnamon, nutmeg, and dried orange peel to the recipe's allspice and healthy teaspoon of ginger), which was truly awesome even though I forgot to bring the whipped cream. Everyone would tell me that the pie didn't need whipped cream, but I wanted whipped cream and now I have to eat the whipped cream without pie. Oh well—there are worse things in life.


We arrived before noon. I have no idea what time we ate or what time we pushed away from the table, but I know we put our feet up and drank digestives (scotch and Irish whiskey, with the Glens widely represented, you know, Glenfidditch, Glenlivet, Ethelglen...yes, I made up the last one but I think it would taste bold and peaty, if not a little harsh) until nine or ten p.m. For almost four hours I was aware of the day having been long, but we were so comfortable. I would have accepted a bed had it been offered.

I like to think of the entire four-day weekend as Thanksgiving. We celebrated our good fortunes—our health, a roof over our head, and much more. We relaxed, slept, rested up for the push to Christmas, read, cooked, and finished a major school project. Winston got a much-needed, but seriously botched, hair cut. We took the boys out for Chinese and used-book browsing at Sixth Chamber. We had a bagel and lox brunch, replete with mimosas, with another family on Sunday, and unloaded on them a disassembled armoire that had been taking up precious space in our garage. All in all, a very successful, celebratory weekend.

Bring on Christmas and all the fixings!