Thanksgiving began for me in the way it usually ends. As I woke up, I found myself clutching my belly with the worst cramps I have had in months. A big thank you to the Turkey Fairy for making what is already a bloated belly day into a moo moo maker. It’s customary to have trouble buttoning your pants after you eat your huge Thanksgiving dinner - not before, right?

Couple my pain and expansion with a 2 hour drive to Baltimore in wicked traffic and you’d have my Thursday morning. Thankfully, my condition improved once we arrived at my sister’s. As soon as the smell hit me, I forgot my own worries and counted my lucky stars. Can you imagine what a bitch I would be if I had to host the holiday on the first day of my period? You may not be able to get a full picture on that if you don’t know me in real life but I can assure you that it’s no damn dinner you’d want to have - ever.

And the smell that hit me as I walked through the door?

Fear.

She didn’t look scared right away, but later, as the turkey turned tight and the gravy didn’t groove, my sister began to panic. Except for the 5 people crammed inside trying to keep thoughts of murder to a minimum, no one outside the steamy 6×6 kitchen had a clue. My husband and cousin Tom, who can both cook better than any woman in our family, did their best to assist my sister prepare the meal. They may have done better if my mother and her crazy twin sister were not present in the tiny space running wild with their own agendas, but that’s real life for you.

Who took my gravy?

My aunt likes to make this flaming spinach salad every few years. I’m fairly certain that in her mind, the recipe puts her on par with both David Copperfield and Martha Stewart. With all of the Thanksgiving cooking going on around her, she concentrated solely on her flambe o’ the greens. She barked out orders, changed the seating arrangement at the table and had the lights turned out as she made her grand entrance with the wilted salad/oil fire.

Was there a big presentation of the turkey on the sweet couple’s first Thanksgiving? No, but the slightly sane 6o year old with the long grey ponytail sure got her rocks off by setting a side dish aflame again. Ahhhhh, the magic of the holidays.

There’s fire in the plastic pot!

My sister took it all in stride with a glass of pino in hand. The food looked and smelled delicious and we all fit at the table so success was toasted after we sat. As the food began making it’s way around the table, I noticed with horror (yes, it was that dramatic) that people were actually chewing. Chewing before we all had our plates full and more importantly - before we said Grace! I couldn’t have been more shocked that one of those people with a full and unholy mouth was my Nana.

She’s awake. It was just a long blink.

Growing up, we were admonished if even a microscopic morsel slipped into our mouths before everyone was served and the blessing was said. Here I was, seated next to the 90 year old ringleader of that school of thought working her way through her mashed potatoes without a care in the world. And my aunt too! Who were these people? Had all manners and respect gone out the freaking window?

Who in the hell raised this family? We haven’t even said Grace yet. It’s Thanksgiving for God’s sake!

Maybe I could have phrased it better but I got my point across. My Nana and the pony-tailed fire-maker put their forks down and we said a prayer of thanks as a family.

It was the best of times and in the end, as in the beginning, I couldn’t have been more thankful that it wasn’t at my house.

My sister was a great virgin.

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