Eve of Thanksgiving


‘Twas the night before Thanksgiving
and all through my dreams
my lips were a-smacking
o’er puddings and creams.

The taters were roasting,
the stuffing was hot,
cranberries were bubbling
somewhere in a pot.

And, other than snoring,
no sound could be heard
while cooks were all ready
to flip us the bird.

The eve of Thanksgiving has long been one of my favorite days of the year.  It is a time of anticipation, marked by long journeys culminating in reunion.  And, of course, there is the promise of home cooking.  Mashed potatoes and gravy.  Pies.  Love.

For this familial huddle, for this return to our roots, we pack onto planes, crowd into train stations, study bus timetables and get stuck for hours in traffic on the interstate.

The rest of the year we are scattered hither and yon, but today all of us stand in unity with a single destination our goal.

We are going home.

Soon enough it will all be over.  We shall rush out, brandishing credit cards like sharpened weapons, to welcome the holiday season and invigorate the nation’s economy, even as we impoverish our purses.

In the aftermath, the leftovers will consist of turkey sandwiches, warmed-up yams and a third of a pumpkin pie, along with the glow of laughter, memories and a sense of belonging to something greater than ourselves.

Hosts prayed for a genie
to grant them three wishes,
the first of which was
to wash up all the dishes.

When the house was all cleaned
and we sat down to rest
‘twas then we were grateful
to have been so blessed.

From our family gathering in Madera, California, warm wishes to you and yours for a very happy Thanksgiving.

NaBloPoMo November 2013

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