Hell of a Guy

My 66th Thanksgiving…


It’s here, and I am here, not sure the exact longitude and latitude, but I surely am in Bridgeport, West Virginia sitting at one of my favorite Starbucks at 6:30 enjoying a steaming cup of Sumatra as I use the index fingers of both hands to type this Thanksgiving BS. 

Our typical Thanksgiving plan of having the family at The Farm interrupted by circumstances, we are bringing the Feast to Mohammed (perhaps a poor descriptor), as it were.  Nonetheless, I am looking forward to the activities of the day, and so ready to get this party started.

The meal is practically ready: the turkey is cooked, the side dishes all can be prepared in ten minutes so, the dressing, dinner rolls and a creamed spinach casserole need only be warmed up.  All of that combined with cranberry salad, green beans and only God knows what else will show up, leaves us needing just people to eat it, some plates and forks.  We are good to go.

In about eight hours I will sit down at a table with a bunch of family and pig out as I listen to family speak of Thanksgivings of old, family news, kids and since the group contains both Republicans and Democrats, we will no doubt discuss President Obama and the pros and cons of national healthcare reform and other contentious crap, and this leaves no doubt in my ever wandering mind a raucous will eventuate.  But beyond the debate lay coffee and dessert.  A little pumpkin pie with a big scoop of French vanilla ice cream will sooth the savage beast and calm the ire of the even the worst of the worst (the Glen Becks and Keith Olbermanns of the world) and also nice guys like me.

And that is al I have to say about that…

Next entry: Black Friday, the Day after the Feast… Previous entry: Thanksgiving, Again?  Already?
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