The Thanksgiving Table

We’re a strange breed of a strange breed—my dad’s family, the whole Jewish-Catholic lot of us—and it’s been established when we get together for Thanksgiving, the miles melt away, and we have that rarest of holiday experiences. We get along. We drink. We play on our iDevices and cook, and watch M*A*S*H, and cook, and listen to “Alice’s Restaurant,” and drink, and cook, and methodically commit to a 1000-piece jigsaw puzzle, and chide one another for drinking. Even this current crop of girlfriends, wives, and boyfriends is remarkable. Freeze, everyone. Stay just where you are.

It’s a recent thing, that I’ve come to love Thanksgiving. In some ways, it’s a different holiday depending who I’m with. Maybe different flavors of the same sucker. One’s cranberry reduction; the other some esoteric vegan strawberry chocolate. Great options, right? This year I remembered, again, it’s not inevitable. I’m incredibly lucky.

Thank you all again—and Mom, waiting on next year, for our broadcast special—for another magic reunion. I love you each and all.

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