Did you think I was going to hang myself for littering?
“…Now it all started two Thanksgivings ago, was on—two years ago on Thanksgiving, when my friend and I went up to visit Alice at the restaurant, but Alice doesn’t live in the restaurant, she lives in the church nearby the restaurant, in the bell-tower, with her husband Ray and Fasha the dog. And livin’ in the bell tower like that, they got a lot of room downstairs where the pews used to be in. Havin’ all that room, seein’ as how they took out all the pews, they decided that they didn’t have to take out their garbage for a long time…”
Good afternoon, and welcome to Thanksgiving, American-style. I’m still in my pajamas; Jeff is about as dressed. We’re headed to Jeff’s parents’ house this afternoon for a gargantuan Southern-style gross overimbibement of turkey goodness. Shortly afterward, we’ll wander back home so that I can resume my gross over-creation of candy goodness for my friends.Tomorrow I’ll bravely venture out to a store, pray for the sanctity of my life, and try to find a store that’s selling little boxes that I can pack my candy goodness in for sending out to all parts of the country.
Discoveries so far: they aren’t kidding when they say that gingerbread’s gotta be rolled between two sheets of parchment. That stuff could be sold as industrial glue! But the kind I make—the chewy, dark kind—have the same kind of dark, rich flavor complexity that you’d expect from curry. A bit of spice, a bit of heat, a bit of sweet. Wondrous.
In comparison, crispy gingerbread is not fit for human consumption.
I am thankful for twelve-pound cats who think I can’t type without a kitty literally sitting on my hands. (Everyone say hello to Tenzing; he seems very determined to say hello to you all.) For Edmund, possibly the laziest kitty ever, happily sleeping on his desk in a sliver of sunshine.
For the rest of you, the names tumbling over names in gasps and gulps of breath and thought; the massive collective warmth and friendship and love which, if pronounced, might sound something like this:
Each name brings to mind a face, a voice, habits, mannerisms, experiences shared. Sometimes I think you all live in different parts of the world simply because I’d never find the time to sleep if I lived in the same town with you all.
So—here’s to being an ungrateful brat for 364 days out of the year, and 24 hours of sincere atonement in the form of goodie baskets.
Be good. Eat your turkey. Hug those you love. And lest we all get too sentimental about such a sentimental holiday, go play “Alice’s Restaurant Massacree” and have a good laugh at the expense of the holiday.
Just remember: you can get anything you want at Alice’s Restaurant.