Thankful Day

Julia woke up early on Wednesday, all excited because it was "Thankful Eve!" I wondered whether I should break the news that no such actual holiday actually exists or start a new tradition. Why not spread the thanks over two days?

One of our own annual events is the Thanksgiving morning cholesterol choke down. While still in our jammies, we eat thick slices of pepper bacon and cinnamon buns fresh from the oven. Then we turn on the TV and watch our Charlie Brown Thanksgiving DVD until the Macy's day parade airs at nine. Here's something fun: we about fell out of our chairs when we heard Meredith Vierra announce the Briefcase Brigade from Plymouth, Michigan. That is my hometown: a tiny place with no claim to fame except, perhaps, its status as a cliche of Americana. Plymouth boasts a Main Street, businesses that have been up and running for over a hundred years, families who have lived there for generations (three in my case), and neighborhoods adorned with ancient trees and historic homes. Smack dab in the middle of town is a sweet triangular park with a turn of the century fountain. While suburban sprawl has lead to the building of less attractive modern homes on the outskirts (I grew up in such a one), the center of town remains largely unchanged from when it was a carriage stop between Detroit and Chicago. Anyway, back to the Briefcase Brigade--these guys are all local attorneys, stock brokers and the like...business associates who pooled their limited talents for the good of the community. I probably went to high school with them, their kids, or their cousins. Click here for a link of them performing in the Plymouth Fourth of July Parade.

The rest of the day was filled with shameless napping and reading. I should have thought to take some pictures but was too busy lounging around with unbrushed hair to find the camera. My, we were cozy though!

Later, we went to our neighbors for dinner. I contributed wild rice, a dish without which this holiday would be seriously diminished. My maternal grandfather was Chippewa and grew up on a reservation in Wisconsin. The folks there earned extra cash by harvesting and distributing wild rice and every year my grandparents would return to the reservation to visit and restock their precious stores. Out here in the Pacific Northwest, only Minnesota-grown rice is available. It is decidedly inferior but we cope as we must. Ladled with gravy, however, it does the trick.

At the table we all shared what we were thankful for. Julia mentioned family and friends, Mark was grateful for antibiotics, I appreciated our Seattle family, people we are not related to by blood but who I know "have my back" no matter what. And Mimi? She expressed her heartfelt thanks for Turkey. I think we covered it all!