The long Thanksgiving Holiday in America is over for another year, and I’ve got a refrigerator full of turkey leftovers I’m enjoying. You see, even though Ken and I were invited out for the annual feast, I cooked a turkey dinner anyhow because I LOVE the leftovers.
For days, we have casseroles with turkey, stuffing and mashed potatoes, and of course we also had sandwiches that rival the best deli. I used the carcass to make soup, and there’s always a little bit of meat I freeze to enjoy the meat after I think I can’t eat another fowl meal.
A lot of families enjoy a visit from family members from afar, who have rushed home for a turkey dinner and now must rush back to their “real” lives. Some had a Norman Rockwell experience, while others put up with ornery family members who drove them nuts.
My family has taken a different path. We ignore each other. My brother who lives in California is exempt from this conversation, but for the rest of us who opted to stay “at home” for our adult lives, there is nothing in common to draw us together any more.
After my mother decided Thanksgiving dinner was to much for her, we started having the annual event with our spouses’ families. This year, Ken and I took yet another detour and spent the day with good friends. My daughter who lives in Seattle, has followed in my footsteps, building a strong network of friends, too. My other daughter enjoys the holiday with her father and his wife’s family.
So, we’ve all worked it out. It’s okay. And next year will probably be the same. And in another month Christmas will come and the same scenario will repeat. Only this time, I won’t be making a turkey. Ham is on the menu.