in the past it was always a riot. an absolute riot. the farm. thirty-eight people in the shack with only one bed. man, we'd drink ourselves silly. and shoot guns out into the woods (cross your fingers on the fate of those bullets). there were only two burners in that kitchen (the hyperbole may be more prominent in my mind, there may have been four burners, alright). for thirty eight people? not a prob. there was only a brown-out once. uncle david pulls out his harpsichord-- then shit gets crazy. once everyone gets nice and tipsy we go deer spotting. pile in the back of the pick-up-truck and look for deer. chase them? was that the goal? who knows. and when you stuff yourself, when you are absolutely full past the state of being full we gather around and sing "alice's restaurant." man, in the past it was a riot.
then there were the years that the farm didn't happen. those years were always great, too. at home, family over, eat and eat and eat. we'd never watch football, just not that into it. just sit around and laze around. always great.
and then there were the years on the west coast. the one up in bellingham with ex-amantes and drums and guitars and apples-to-apples. and the other one with multiple meals in a day with roommates and families.
and then there was last year. the one where we sat by the fire all night with glasses of red-wine. and we laughed and laughed and laughed ourselves silly, like we always do. and we rented a movie on the television, like we never do.
this thanksgiving will be different. we'll celebrate in a bar. near an ancient cathedral. on the coast. erin and emily and i will bring broccoli with bacon and raisins and sunflower seeds. we'll bake sweet potatoes with caramelized pecans. we'll be the only ones in the city with a turkey coma. we'll toast and laugh and soak up the memories that we've made and the memories of this day in our past. then we'll dance the night away.
of course it will be different. but different always means great.
happy thanksgiving.
No comments:
Post a Comment