Eleventy billion years ago somewhere in Massachusetts there was a multi-cultural gathering of neighbors who were happy, well, I don't know what they were so damn happy about. None of them had cable. There was no Macy's Parade with big giant balloons. It was fall, so it's not like they had just survived the winter. In fact, winter was staring them in the face. I suppose that they were happy about their bountiful harvest or whatever. Maybe they were just really excited about finding that big horn that they stuffed with grapes and wheat and figs or whatever they used to make a cornucopia. Who knows? But the bottom line is that they had dinner together, out on an exposed picnic table according to the painting, and now at the end of November everyone gets two days off of work. Oh, and we get to stuff ourselves silly with turkey and fall asleep watching football. How great is that?
There are some people who live the Thanksgiving dream every weekend. Eat a big Saturday or Sunday feast and zonk out on the sofa watching Gus Johnson go nutso as some team scores with less than four minutes to go to tie up the game. That's the life for me. But I can't bring myself to do it every day. That's why I love Thanksgiving. Because it gives me an excuse to do that kind of stuff. I can eat turkey and mashed potatoes and green bean casserole and cranberry sauce until I am about to explode and then I can stuff some pumpkin pie down on top of it all until it backs up into my esophagus and I can barely breathe. And I don't get judged for doing it like when I am at Perkins. That's part of the reason I like Thanksgiving so much.
I like it too because there is a certain air and feeling about it. Millions of people get into their cars, families four in sedans and SUVs and four-door pickup trucks that will never go off the pavement and they head north or south or east or west, from the cities and the suburbs into the woods and fields to grandma's house. Families of four, dad driving, mom looking out the window, the son in the back watching TV on the flip down screen or maybe playing his Play Station 3, while the daughter is listening to awful R&B on her iPod wishing she was anywhere else. But I love it anyway, because the whole family is together in a warm house that smells AMAZING, catching up and getting on each others' nerves. Even crazy Uncle Larry is there with this years' wife. That's what I love. By Friday or Saturday they will be disbursing back around the country, but for those couple of days it's like something Norman Rockwell pained on the The Saturday Evening Post.
I love it even more when it's a little cold and there is some light snow falling about. That is the best. Big, light, flakes of snow slowly falling perfectly from the sky as the night grown dark, and then they appear in front of the street lights and porch lights and whatever. It's so perfect. I mean, some years it's nasty and raining and some years you can wear shorts and a polo shirt, but it's Thanksgiving. It's late November. It should be snowing and the windows of the house should be glowing.
And then there's real Thanksgiving. And it's not like that except for a select few. Most families will experience a theme distinctly different from the one described above. And that's okay. Many families will have people who are still at deer camp. Many people will be flying solo. And that's okay too. But whatever you and whomever do we hope that you have the best of holidays. And we hope that if you are traveling you do so safely and without issue. Happy Thanksgiving to all from Big Dave and Company!