So, Thanksgiving. You know how you have images in your mind of how things will go? And then it never quite turns out like you think/hope/plan? Yeah.
After my one traitorous thought about the pies, I enjoyed making them. I was looking forward to how good they would be, how everyone would sit around with cups of coffee, eating pie and perhaps watching Christmas Vacation. Or maybe Armageddon. This would be after a nice dinner where we all sat around the table chatting idly. And that would be after we played cornhole and maybe took a nice walk, sort of a preventive measure for the upcoming calorie consumption.
The reality ... was somewhat less.
There's always something. Screaming, yelling, the boundless energy of a three-year-old, unexpected guests, the gravy left to boil ... undercurrents, cutting remarks, and that's Thanksgiving.
It was nice. The turkey was very good, the mashed potatoes as well. My mom made my grandma's stuffing recipe. Green bean casserole for my brother. And of course the pies.
And Patrick won at cornhole.
