Thanksgiving Dinner ...

I am not home for Thanksgiving. For the first time. Ever. But I still know exactly what will happen. Nana will make her delicious rolls, cinnamon and orange varieties, and worry about bringing too many or too few. (Note to Nana: You will have a few more cinnamon rolls to pass around this year, thanks to my absence.) Mom will arrange fabulous centerpieces and themed name cards (I got mine in the mail, so I am not excluded here, thank you very much). The boys will watch football and occasionally run an errand to the basement or the grocery store. Everyone will eat too many potato chips loaded with clam dip, while Uncle B. shares the latest tidbit from the National Enquirer. Aunt J. or B. might be brave enough to ask R. or T. or D. or A. or S. about their dating adventures. (The other S. and H. might get off this year. But they probably have the most to tell. At least according to Facebook. M. will be glad she gets to avoid this topic for a while longer.) Mom will announce three times that Thanksgiving dinner is ready and the television must be turned off. Now. Dad will carve the turkey and mix the cranberry and Sprite drinks. The dinner conversation will vary from a heated discussion about the latest government bailout to news about B. and her boys to a plea from Nana for everyone to be quiet and grateful for a few minutes. In the end, the women will survey the scene and note the exact number of minutes it took for their hours and hours of work to be consumed, and the men will briefly help with the dishes until, they imagine, invisibly returning to the couch and the football. Then there might be some discussion about seeing a movie, or maybe playing a good game of Apples to Apples, which will be won, of course, by whoever gets the card for "mold" or "smelly socks." Then Aunt J. will bring out her pies and ask what everyone wants. A little sliver of each for me, please ...