Historically, Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday.
The morning is spent watching the Macy's day parade (this year with cuddles from two of my nieces and nephews), then time to clean up before family members start to appear.
Every year, that evokes, "Oh gosh, they're here already?!" from my mama Jansie.
Then, as she panics and I kind of putz about the house, everyone else shows up.
Trout, veggies, and other random hors d'oeuvres are consumed and then my family crams themselves around the dining room table (at their assigned seat).
At this point, we grab hands, sing "Father, We Thank Thee" and then my father tries to pray. Tries, because he always ends up choked up, which is very precious.
It doesn't matter if Daddy prays of if one of the boys prays, the Odom men cry when they pray. I like that.
Then we sit and enjoy one another and eat all the random, delicious dishes that we have all contributed. "Oh my gosh! This ______ casserole is so scrumptious! Who made this?!"
And then the rest of the day kind of twiddles about, but all in all, the entire thing is all the fun of Christmas without the presents, which I love.
Why then, with all these warm and bright memories, would Belfast the Cold be my mental trigger?
Last year, right before the fall semester team left, we had a Thanksgiving feast.
There were enough leftovers to make up an entire feast. Like, whole casseroles.
Then they left me.
The woman I lived with was passionate about not having leftovers. Passionate to the point of...extremism. Like, digging thrown-out food out of the trashcans.
She had good intentions.
However, she also experienced a lot of allergy-type reactions to most foods.
Thus, it was up to me to eat everything the team left. It was character building and waistline widening both.
I'm sure you remember post after post after post of things I baked with my 11 pounds of apples (just one example of my mass food eateries). I also had to eat Thanksgiving.
Meal after meal.
It was exciting the first week.
But, like all casseroles, it's day 9 that things start getting rough.
After that, I had to make meal baggies, a heft spoonful of each dish into a ziplock.
Then I'd pull one out, rip off the bag, and microwave it.
Rough times, friends.
Good thing I really like Thanksgiving food.
When I came back from my sojourn to Oklahoma, though, guess what had been thrown out of the freezer.
I can't even remember if I was more sad or more amused by the irony.
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