I love Thanksgiving.
I love the gathering of family and friends to feast and fest and toast each other, and celebrate community. One of the benefits of being a family with folks living on both sides of the Canada/US border means two Thanksgivings per year.
As a young person, Thanksgiving meant a long drive to Indiana for feast and family with my paternal grandparents and aunts and uncles. The soundtrack to these memories is comprised of Duke, Ella, and Satchmo. The aromas which still linger in the back of my mind are black coffee percolating, my Grandma's scalloped potatoes, and the pall of smoke that always hung low over the dining room table after dinner.
As a young adult, Thanksgiving was often celebrated far away from my immediate family, but with the intensity and urgency of friends developing their own traditions. We made merry, and over-consumed everything. We laughed till we cried, told stories that were mostly true, played games and cleaned up the next day with foggy brains and painkillers.
As I approach my middle years, Thanksgiving to me has morphed and evolved into a gentle gathering of friends and family, with flavours of food and drink supplied by all. Communal cooking, in one kitchen, a conjoining of people who truly enjoy each other. We still laugh til we cry. We still have Satchmo providing atmosphere as often as we have Adelle, or Radiohead, or the Boss. Someone still makes granny's scalloped taters, but we've also added to the seasonal menu new items like scratch made pates, or my wife's pumpkin creme brulee. We still enjoy our wine, or beer, or whiskey, and sometimes have one more than we should... but no one ever spends the day after in misery.
This year, I'd like to say a special thanks to all of you. You, who with your posts, your stories, your jokes, your nuggets of truth, have made me a richer man.
Happy Thanksgiving friends.
-- Pat
I love the gathering of family and friends to feast and fest and toast each other, and celebrate community. One of the benefits of being a family with folks living on both sides of the Canada/US border means two Thanksgivings per year.
As a young person, Thanksgiving meant a long drive to Indiana for feast and family with my paternal grandparents and aunts and uncles. The soundtrack to these memories is comprised of Duke, Ella, and Satchmo. The aromas which still linger in the back of my mind are black coffee percolating, my Grandma's scalloped potatoes, and the pall of smoke that always hung low over the dining room table after dinner.
As a young adult, Thanksgiving was often celebrated far away from my immediate family, but with the intensity and urgency of friends developing their own traditions. We made merry, and over-consumed everything. We laughed till we cried, told stories that were mostly true, played games and cleaned up the next day with foggy brains and painkillers.
As I approach my middle years, Thanksgiving to me has morphed and evolved into a gentle gathering of friends and family, with flavours of food and drink supplied by all. Communal cooking, in one kitchen, a conjoining of people who truly enjoy each other. We still laugh til we cry. We still have Satchmo providing atmosphere as often as we have Adelle, or Radiohead, or the Boss. Someone still makes granny's scalloped taters, but we've also added to the seasonal menu new items like scratch made pates, or my wife's pumpkin creme brulee. We still enjoy our wine, or beer, or whiskey, and sometimes have one more than we should... but no one ever spends the day after in misery.
This year, I'd like to say a special thanks to all of you. You, who with your posts, your stories, your jokes, your nuggets of truth, have made me a richer man.
Happy Thanksgiving friends.
-- Pat