As Thanksgiving approaches we interrupt the travel report

to bring you some holiday reflections. I've always loved making holiday dinners, to the point of being happily breathless when dinner's over and the floor is covered with paper, the furniture is adorned with food-based fingerprints unknown to any juvenile authority, and the couches are upholstered with immovable football statisticians in snoring coma (a congenital condition attached to the Y chromosome)....  well, there's a lot to be said for the gradual erosion of at least some cherished family traditions. 


Our family is delightfully multi-cultural (but you knew that), so perhaps some of these may have once been yours, too:

THE FIVE TANTRUMS OF THE IN-LAWS

THE OH, SO MERRY MERRY SEATING REARRANGEMENT (an all-American folk dance)

THE RITUAL RECITATION OF FOOD ALLERGIES AND DIETETIC SENSITIVITIES  
 (often but not always a responsive reading)

THE MEAL-TIME VISIT OF THE BALD UNCLE WHO NEVER BRINGS PRESENTS

um, not exactly our house

THE FOUR MULTI-CULTURAL QUESTIONS:

-- is there garlic in this?  
        -- she puts garlic in everything

-- is there garlic in this?  
         -- I can taste the garlic

-- is there garlic in this?   
        -- anyone can taste garlic in this

-- is there garlic in this?  
        -- I don't know why noone else can taste garlic 

THE CRUEL BUT NECESSARY REVISITING OF FAMILY RECIPES FROM GENERATIONS PAST 
(included here: loud resumptions of the Lard/Chicken Fat Feud and the Great Butter/Olive Oil Vendetta)


THE LOUD AND PERSISTENT INTERROGATION OF SINGLE WOMEN ABOUT THEIR LIVING ARRANGEMENTS

THE DISSERTATION AND DISPUTATION CONCERNING THE PROVENANCE AND EVENTUAL DISPOSITION OF THE HOLIDAY SILVER AND SERVING DISHES 
              (a sharing of memories of the sacrifices made by our or your or 
               someone's ancestors to provide the ungrateful and unappreciative 
               with a complete service for 12 plus bread-and-butter plates and 
               2 extra cups which will pass to the one descendant who really truly - 
               trust me - doesn't want them)

THE DEPARTURE BEFORE DESSERT OF THE SILENT COUSIN WHO ALWAYS ARRIVES ALONE

THE ORGAN RECITAL OF THE COMATOSE SPORTS FANS (featuring Uncle *** on the nose flute and Grandpa ### on the intestinal tympani)


Anything ring a bell?