November 28 is Thanksgiving Day in the United States, so a Happy Thanksgiving to my countrymen. And to all, I’m thankful that you stopped by today.
Mary and I spend the holiday at home. My brothers and I all live in different states, and our parents have all passed away. Besides, it’s difficult for me to travel since the stroke.
Mary and I have a saying when we are consciously procrastinating on something: “It’s time to make the cranberries.” Here’s the story behind that:
When I was living at home, and after Mary and I were married, we would have Thanksgiving and Christmas dinner with my mother and stepfather and about a dozen other family members. My stepfather would cook the turkey outside on the Weber charcoal grill, run to the grocery store half a dozen times to pick up items that he would discover that we didn’t have, peel and cook the vegetables, bake the dinner rolls and pies, and make the gravy. My mother would make the cranberry sauce, which involved putting a pound of cranberries and a cup of sugar in a saucepan with enough water to cover, setting them on a burner, and cooking them until the cranberries popped. My stepfather would be hard at work in the kitchen making preparations most of the day while my mother sat in her “command module” (think of The Big Bang Theory and Sheldon’s spot on the couch), cigarette in one hand, phone in the other, and talk to her sisters all day, each conversation ending with, “I have to get off the phone and make the cranberries.” There were a couple of years when dinner was held up because Mom hadn’t made the cranberries yet.
Anyway, Happy Thanksgiving, wherever you are.