![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Well, it's _our_ tradition.
Nov. 24th, 2011 10:15 pmFor sixteen years now, Thanksgiving has meant driving to Massachusetts on Thanksgiving Day, dinner in a restaurant, then Black Friday battles in the malls (one of my fondest memories ever is tag teaming in the checkout line at 5 AM on Black Friday morning with EJ, Brianne, and Ro), and celebrating Thanksgiving on Saturday. Then home on Sunday, after hitting the food markets we don't have at home, for foods we can't get at home.
Usually the Thanksgiving restaurant is Chinese. I know Lute Squire hoped it would be this year as well, but She Who Must Be Obeyed wanted to go to Pizzeria Uno, and so we did, with youngest son (who has to be at work at midnight).
We are home now. The puppies are busy being adored, I have moved some of Peter's money into Paul's pocket so as to be able to enjoy a bit of expenditure tomorrow, horribly tight as the budget is this year, and Herself is downstairs making the apple pie (the pumpkin bread, the pumpkin pie, the pumpkin cheesecake, and the cranberry sauce already done). I suspect Duchezz is being a puppy mat as she continues her latest crochet project.
I shall go down in a bit, and enjoy the company of chosen family.
Sometimes people talk about "chosen family" as though, somehow, they are less problematic than the ones we are born into. That is, at best, an illusion. They are people, and like the blood we're born into, they hurt each other (and us), we hurt them, some of them don't even like each other, or respect each other. And some only see each other at funerals--not even weddings. It doesn't matter. At least not to me.
I came from a family that was rather emotionally detached on the maternal side, and separated by massive distance on the paternal. And so, I am grateful for this chosen family, both the ones whose roof I shelter under tonight, and those who this holiday are under other roofs. We have our own version of the crazy uncle; and annoying great-aunt; the ne-er-do-well cousin; the needy middle sibling; the hyper-efficient older sister; the know-it-all teenager; the spoiled rotten baby; the bookish nephew; the tomboy too gorgeous not to be a model, but she isn't; and the younger sibling sitting quietly in the corner, mentally recording it all for the "Great American Novel" to be written at a later date. And I love them all, and thank God for putting me in a place to know them, to be loved by them, for the blessings they bring.
Happy Thanksgiving, everyone.
Usually the Thanksgiving restaurant is Chinese. I know Lute Squire hoped it would be this year as well, but She Who Must Be Obeyed wanted to go to Pizzeria Uno, and so we did, with youngest son (who has to be at work at midnight).
We are home now. The puppies are busy being adored, I have moved some of Peter's money into Paul's pocket so as to be able to enjoy a bit of expenditure tomorrow, horribly tight as the budget is this year, and Herself is downstairs making the apple pie (the pumpkin bread, the pumpkin pie, the pumpkin cheesecake, and the cranberry sauce already done). I suspect Duchezz is being a puppy mat as she continues her latest crochet project.
I shall go down in a bit, and enjoy the company of chosen family.
Sometimes people talk about "chosen family" as though, somehow, they are less problematic than the ones we are born into. That is, at best, an illusion. They are people, and like the blood we're born into, they hurt each other (and us), we hurt them, some of them don't even like each other, or respect each other. And some only see each other at funerals--not even weddings. It doesn't matter. At least not to me.
I came from a family that was rather emotionally detached on the maternal side, and separated by massive distance on the paternal. And so, I am grateful for this chosen family, both the ones whose roof I shelter under tonight, and those who this holiday are under other roofs. We have our own version of the crazy uncle; and annoying great-aunt; the ne-er-do-well cousin; the needy middle sibling; the hyper-efficient older sister; the know-it-all teenager; the spoiled rotten baby; the bookish nephew; the tomboy too gorgeous not to be a model, but she isn't; and the younger sibling sitting quietly in the corner, mentally recording it all for the "Great American Novel" to be written at a later date. And I love them all, and thank God for putting me in a place to know them, to be loved by them, for the blessings they bring.
Happy Thanksgiving, everyone.
