We are headed to the Emerald Coast, (well, close to it, anyway) for Thanksgiving. Yet another year of dodging the bullet on making a turkey. Oh, I've done my time on that, I assure you. Since I was a newlywed (the first time) back in '84, I've been getting up at 5:00 AM and putting the turkey in the oven. Only one person that reads this blog (Hey, Karen!) can remember that fiasco of my first Thanksgiving. I had to have the directions read to me as I worked on the turkey. I think we had 20 people in that tiny little apartment. And I was preggers with Jesse, so sick to my stomach that I didn't want any part of eating it. Every year, I always invited those without family to join us. Thanksgiving at my house growing up meant that my stepdad would get up at 3:00 AM to put the turkey in the smoker. He and Mom would actually start drinking then, so by the time we ate, they were definitely feeling no pain. And no hunger. My brothers and I ate by ourselves most of the time. So, the whole concept of a family Thanksgiving was lost on me until I married into this family. It blew me away that folks could cook without the inspiration of alcohol. I dreaded each and every holiday as it would start off like this, and end very badly.
Grandma Hunnybunny will be making the turkey, and the rest of us will be taking orders from her. Suits me just fine. Actually, I mentioned to HB that we could go out for Thanksgiving so we could spend more time together. To me, the holiday is about being together, not the food, although that's nice. Of course he pounded his alfa-male chest and said no way. Tradition is tradition. Well, I'm grateful to God that some traditions can be broken. Like the traditions I grew up with.