Sixty days…

Tomorrow is Thanksgiving.  I’m shopping, cooking, cleaning, decorating, and generally going crazy.  Ahhh fun…  I am looking forward to watching the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade.  Of course, this will occur after I wrestle with my twenty-pound turkey and drink enough coffee to clear my sleepy-eyed vision.  I should probably reverse the order of the two previous statements.

As a child, I remember waking up to the smell of turkey wafting through the air, the parade on the living room television, and my grandmother and mother working in the kitchen.  They always made it look so easy.  It isn’t.  As an adult, I have learned that one of the keys to hospitality is making people think what you’ve done isn’t any big deal.  I’ve learned to act relaxed.  This allows my guests to feel comfortable.  Behind the scenes, I’m a frazzled mess.  Shhh that’s classified information…

Anyway, over the next couple days as I’m running around like a chicken with my head cut off, (Or should I say turkey?) I am going to have my grandmother on my mind.  I miss her.  (If you’re coming to my home on Thanksgiving and the food is extra salty, you’ll know why.)  My tears will flow with gratitude for someone who taught me much.  (I told you I would behave extra mushy, gushy at some point.) I thank God for family traditions.  I’m next in line to help pass on the kitchen frenzy façade.  Somehow, it’s insanely liberating to state with conviction that it is my turn to bake the pumpkin pie!  (Mmmm, praise the Lord for pumpkin pie!)  Which reminds me, I should probably get to work…