Non-obligatory oblations of thanks

I sit on the couch, tummy pleasantly swollen from turkey, dressing and all the trimmings. My queen has passed out at my side, her last audible words of “I’m so full…” still in the air — I know I’m going to have to carry her to bed.

My day was spent visiting with big people who used to be little people. Nephews and nieces who just yesterday were snotty nosed little rug rats have somehow metamorphosed into adults (when did that happen?). There were also old people who used to be young people… I can’t believe that my little brother is 50! Again, when did that happen? My little sister is… well, I’d best not tell you her age because she might hurt me!

I took it all in, like a slow motion camera pan. My dad on one end of the table, like a potentate overseeing his clan; my mother at the other end, beaming. My siblings animatedly talking about their lives; two soldiers trading army stories; a long-unseen cousin fitting in like one of the family; food that beyond the tantalizing tastes they offered, beckoning memories of years gone by. All that was missing was the music that movies often employ to tie the sentiment together.

Thanks giving, I am, because I’m blessed…

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