I had the distinct pleasure of eating two Thanksgiving dinners this year. I have a terrible memory, but I don’t think that’s ever happened before. One year I almost didn’t get to go to a Thanksgiving dinner. But then I did. The first one this year was the weekend before Thanksgiving with Z’s family in Utah. I’m not sure if it was just the first turkey of the year, but the food was especially delicious and the pies went on forever. I am from a relatively small family and panic at the thought of feeding more than a few people at once, but his is a huge family that really knows how to feed a large group of people.
These pictures are all from our first Thanksgiving dinner in Utah, and although there is no photographic evidence, the second Thanksgiving was with my family in Oregon during the actual holiday. Years ago, I used to make the trip without much effort. Now, I think I’ve reached my saturation point for that stretch of freeway, and all of my favorite albums and podcasts don’t seem to make it much better.
On Thanksgiving day, we all converged at my mom’s house, and then sat around waiting for my nephew to arrive (he was with his mom). When “grandpa” finally brought him home, I crouched down as he climbed the porch steps. “Can I have a hug?” I asked. He grinned and put his arms up for me to lift him. We hugged tightly, and I couldn’t see his grin, but Mom took a few pictures of it. We hadn’t seen each other in several months (he’s only two and a half), and I wondered if he would feel shy and if he would have to warm up to me.
I was with him all summer and cared for him during the days while everyone else was at work. It was a wonderful time, but completely exhausting. Living away from him means that I treasure our time together.
Happy Thanksgiving. May we eat all of the turkey. (But not really.)