Oh Thanksgiving. Sweet, lovely, Thanksgiving. No offense to Christmas, or my own Birthday, but of all the National holidays, you my sweet, are my very favorite. You are the only holiday that celebrates the beauty of the food comma. It is an art, indeed the fine line, that separates being full, from complete nausea. And every year, as families the mainland United States over, fall into that slight comma, you make sure that there is plenty of football playing softly in background to lull us into a gentle sleep.
Like me, you always root for the underdog. You celebrate ingredients that no one could care less about the other 364 days of the year. Things like turkey...the red-headed stepchild of poultry. And canned cranberry sauce. If someone offered me canned cranberry sauce in April, I would seriously consider smacking them in the mouth. But on Thanksgiving, I have actually witnessed the look of desperate panic as one of my family members heard that I forgot to pick up a $1.99 can of Ocean Spray at the grocery store. And I'm pretty sure that the can I finally found in the back of my brother's pantry had been there since last Thanksgiving.
Thanksgiving, you little lovebug you, you remind me that I should practice being more grateful more often. It shouldn't take a national holiday, and butter-ladden homemade cinnamon roll (or three) for me to feel so fortunate. So sappiness be damned, this year, the thing that I'm most grateful for is the gift of my entire family showing up to participate in the most basic pleasures: an amazing meal, a glass of wine, and long conversations with nothing but time. Ummm...and also, an extended game of grown-ups vs kids Wii Just Dance, which just for the record, I won.
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