Somehow, Thanksgiving away from home always holds an extra and unusual sense of gratitude. Here I am in Scotland at Thanksgiving, miles away from family, miles away... from Thanksgiving. And yet, upon the table, six plates are piled with all the right things: turkey, sweet potatoes (yes! with marshmallows!), mashed potatoes, green bean casserole, yum, and even stuffing! The bread I baked was done just in time for everyone to leave without having tasted it. A shame that they did not get to share in its warm goodness (my own bad timing), and a pleasure that we of flat 5 are able to consume it all on our own. One cannot forget the homemade cranberry sauce, so amazing that I filched the recipe right out from Nick's back pocket, and the homemade cranberry and apple pie--also amazing. And yes, Sarah left the remaining pie in our kitchen. For us. To eat.
In one light, this sounds like gluttony. I am rejoicing in the presence of excessive amounts of food. But it is not the mere taste, not the full stomachs that we are grateful for. It is the consistency of tradition, the commaraderie of shared experiences, the fact that at this time yesterday none of us had concrete plans for the holiday--and yet, everything was there in full.
Now to call my mother and inquire after the homeless...
In one light, this sounds like gluttony. I am rejoicing in the presence of excessive amounts of food. But it is not the mere taste, not the full stomachs that we are grateful for. It is the consistency of tradition, the commaraderie of shared experiences, the fact that at this time yesterday none of us had concrete plans for the holiday--and yet, everything was there in full.
Now to call my mother and inquire after the homeless...
You are a dear and I am envying your Thanksgiving. Mine was nowhere near as lovely as yours and I am looking forward to seeing mom and dad tonight. I love you my dear and am so glad you had a wonderful day full of tradition and lovely people!!!.
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