Thanksgiving

Turkey with the works. I'm talkin' mashed potatoes, cranberry sauce, stuffing, peas, rolls, pumpkin pie, AND carrot cake. That's what Thanksgiving is at the Gilbert household. My mother slaves over the stove for days. My father sits. My sister reads. My grandparents arrive. Of course, the car pulls in just in time to eat the arduously prepared meal. "Love and hugs" (as my mother would say) is doled out. Smiles plastered on our faces, all six of my family sit down at the table - china plates, silver silverware, fancy napkins. We're all dressed up, pretentious almost.

Then for the next hour, we sit in silence, eating, pretending to be a family we are not. The occasional praise for the food breaks through the silence. Finally, when we have downed enough food to feed homeless orphans for a week, we waddle into the family room to assume our nature couch potato state of being.

Once my family has succumbed to dreamless sleep, I escape to the depths of my basement. There, I huddle with my warm blanket in the corner of my coach while watching the outrageous adventures of the wonderful Doctor and his companions.