Except for the fact that the turkey was the worst I've ever cooked, Thanksgiving Day was the best in memory. I did most of the cooking, so I was exhausted by the time we got to dessert (plus, my ankles were swollen), but thankfulness doesn't begin to describe what I was feeling.
For the first time since August, Marty and I and our three kids were all home. I'd been to hell and back in the interim, so there was a very special synergy to the reunion. I lived for this and times like them. I am a happy woman.
The day started with listening to the obligatory "Alice's Restaurant" on the radio. Marty and I had breakfast alone, and tuned into the Macys Thanksgiving Day Parade, one of the cheesiest spectacles I can't do without. It's tradition. During this time, I was working on dinner preparations.
The five of us had hors d'oeurves by the fire around 3:00 pm, and then it was a mad scramble to put the finishing touches on dinner. The kids played a board game while the parents slaved.
Despite the centerpiece of the meal being a dud, it was a wonderful repast. George Winston's "Winter" played on the stereo, and we sat around talking and telling stories long after we'd finished eating. An hour or so later, we regrouped for Mom's apple pie and more conversation. I was starting to tip over by that point, not that anyone noticed.
Someone got the idea that we should do a family weigh-in. We totaled our weight, which was somewhere near 753 lbs. Then the kids computed our combined BMI (body mass index), and even though we had each mysteriously gained three pounds apiece, we were within the normal range. Then the kids decided to have a push-up contest, Mark pitted against Mariel and Harry, who alternated turns. Marty and I kept track of the counts. Mark reached 50 first, with Mariel and Harry combining for a respectable 45.
At that point I was caving in, a blissful idiot. Today I plan to do nothing but enjoy the family circle. It doesn't get better than this.