|Thanksgiving buffet--and some special people|
Over the river and through two humongous traffic jams we did go. All the Alters, all sixteen of us, gathered in Frisco at Jamie and Mel’s house for feasting and fun.
Much of the time was spent “hanging out.” Conversations ranged widely, from politics—we’re all on the same page though our prognostications about the future differ. Then there was a long conversation about tattoos—one of my granddaughters has a couple, talks about getting more, and is knowledgeable about the art. There was even much searching the web and studying various tattoo artists. Hard for me to adjust to, but I love this girl dearly and will accept what she wants to do. Four grandsons holed up in the media room with electronic games so long I thought they’d suffer from sunlight deficiency. Two of the big boys concentrated on a robotic chess game-fascinating to watch the pieces move seemingly on their own. Early Black Friday the two oldest girls were at the mall—home by lunch with bags of “finds.” Wonderful quiet moments with each of my sons—with Colin when a football game distracted others and this morning a kitchen visit with Jamie.
One night we went to dinner at a restaurant new to several of us—Tupelo Honey, which apparently comes from a song by Van Morrison with that title. Southern comfort food cooked from scratch and delicious—everything from to-die-for biscuits with little pots of butter topped with blueberry jam to chocolate cake with ganache and lots of fried chicken and shrimp and grits in between.
Early—and I do mean early—Thanksgiving morning, everyone was up to do the Frisco Turkey Trot. Except me. But I was staying in the upstairs guest room and cannot manage the stairs without help. It was either get up early and come down or be marooned up there until nine or non-thirty. I chose to get up and spend some time writing in a quiet house—with a puppy yipping his indignation about being locked up.
|My girls and me|
The morning before I’d spent a little time in the guest room waiting for Jordan to come get me. It dawned on me that’s what life in a traditional nursing home is like—you’re alone with a bed, a bathroom, a TV, one comfortable chair, and maybe your iPad. Made me so grateful for my health and my cottage.
Thanksgiving dinner was plentiful and delicious and joyous with all the expected dishes and three pies, including my favorite chess pie that Melanie makes from scratch. The turkey dinner after-effect sent us all to bed early. Kudos to Melanie for pulling off the perfect huge meal and blessing it with sweet words about family. Next day, lunch of leftovers followed hard upon a hearty breakfast, and we all headed home, full of food and family and love.
So I’m home with Sophie, facing the headlong rush into Christmas, while still trying to work on my Alamo book. I miss my scattered family, but Sophie seems glad to see me—and I am as always glad to see her.