My Thanksgiving has begun mostly like they mostly do lately. We are waiting for our contribution to dinner to finish cooking just in time to run to Momma's grandmother's house. We will be a little later than everyone else, but this year, I don't think we'll be so late that everyone has started eating already.
One thing we seem to have avoided the last couple of years is that phone call from Momma's younger brother. He had the worst habit of calling us in an irate manner to tell us we were late. I forget now exactly what we said, but he has not done this in a couple of years. I'm pretty sure we told them to go ahead and eat if it was that big a deal.
This year, Momma made a pumpkin pie and some rolls. The house smelled amazing last night as the pie cooked. I was reading to The Boy and tucking him in bed as the pie went into the oven, and as I exited the room, the smell of pie overwhelmed me in the best possible way. The rolls are cooking now adding their own yeasty, bakey smell to the house.
The parade is on the television right now, though I could certainly do without Barry Manilow's horrid voice. At least I didn't have to see the close up of him, because his newly plasticized face seriously creeps me the fuck out. I'm not entirely against prettying yourself up surgically, but when your neck looks like the flap of chicken that hangs off the big hole, it doesn't do any justice to the surgeon's work on your face. When you touch that face with your age stiffened hand, we see that, though your face is only a couple of years old, the rest of you is still somewhere north of sixty.
This will be the fun holiday this year. Big Brother seems mostly over his cold whereas The Boy's sickness seems to have traveled down to his stomach as he has voided it a few times this morning. The poor kid is so not his usual stuff. As much as his usual craziness may irk me sometimes, I'd so much rather he be bouncing off the walls than moping on the sofa. I'm still suffering what may or may not be a cracked rib, but that isn't going to bother my eating ability.
I'll end with a quick statement about marching bands. I love marching bands. To me, they are the highlight of a good parade. Why is it that predominately white marching bands tend not to have the life and joy of the predominately black marching bands? It's something I see proven anew each year with the Macy's parade. Oh, and can Hannah Montana's float just break down and leave her where she can't ruin the parade?