We're off, the Dr. Middle-Write-Brow contingent, to Inkom, Idaho for what promises to be another Thanksgiving packed with too much food and wine and too little exercise. I promised Son that we would go for a hike. Doesn't look like there will be any snow.
When I asked Son what he most liked to do at Grandpa's house he answered, "Trains, the tractor, that card game, or playing with toys." He has his priorities in order.
My Dad actually does have two old tractors that he tinkers with and occasionally drives around his big backyard. Son loves to take rides on it. I'm always afraid it's about to tip over, trapping Son and Grandpa beneath it. So far it hasn't happened.
Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday: there's no gift shopping to do before, so you can really concentrate on what's important: food. I love turkey and stuffing and pie. Pie may be my favorite dessert. But then, I love cake too.
What am I thankful for: Son, Middlebrow, my job, the fact that I'm healthy and happy, all the cliches. Also: HBO (Six Feet Under, The Sopranos, Sex and the City), good movies (Capote, Motorcycle Diaries, any documentary), the fact that people keep writing and reading books, no matter how trashy.
Really, I'm thankful that Jennifer Aniston has hooked up with Vince Vaughn (I never was a Brad fan) and that the media have found something to talk about besides Tom Cruise (though when the alien baby is born, they'll be back on the front page) and Iraq.
Oh yeah: I'm grateful that the wheels of justice are grinding and just might crush Tom Delay. Hey, it wouldn't be Thanksgiving without a little graphic violence. I prefer good old fashioned politics to football anyday.
Unless I'm the one playing football, of course. I'm a good QB.
Happy Turkey Day all.
And be thankful. W hasn't shut down the blogisphere. Yet.