Picking it Apart

I love Thanksgiving. I don't think that's neither too unusual nor crazy. But for me, the best part isn't seeing relatives I haven't seen in a year or walking in parades - it's spending all the time with my family.

Like most families, we've scattered. Mom still lives in the old house, but I now have an old house of my own. David has his apartment, and Mike lives in Tennessee. I spend a lot of time with David - we play kickball together, we both enjoy playing poker, but for Mike, visits home are somewhat rare. I don't begrudge him this - he has his own life, plus a visit to Iraq or Afghanistan looming, but spending time together is still welcomed.

We spent our post-Thanksgiving dinner at Mom's, watching The Donald kick poor Andy out the door after he self-destructed (Andy -- don't give professionals cash as a bribe - they find it insulting. Me? I'd take it, but I'd still probably be insulted - and $100 richer). Then we found the turkey.

It happens every year - by 9:00, no matter how stuffed we were a few hours before, we're ready for the next course. So Mom prepares the backup turkey.

Now, we didn't eat at Mom's - we always spend Thanksgiving at my aunt's house, but Mom still prepares the turkey breast, knowing we'll give it a good home later. So there we stood, David, Mike and I, hovering over the bird, carving off slices and eating them. Some would say it's uncivilized. Some would call it uncouth. But I would say that we don't like washing plates, and my family has a long, proud tradition of picking at food. So while they may have their movie watching or night of bowling, we pick at a turkey breast.

The carnivorous display didn't last too long. We dug out the Trivial Pursuit and I handed out the whuppins - because who knows more about trivia than me?

In any case, these days, with war, travel hang-ups and demanding work schedules, it was a great way to spend a Thanksgiving.