Gobble!

Good afternoon, gentle readers!
As I'm writing this, the sun is pouring through my bedroom window and I have a load of laundry going in the washing machine. The combination of the two, plus the addition of a softly purring laptop, makes me feel incredibly homey.
The only thing missing is the smell of apple pie drifting up from the kitchen.
But there will be time for apple pie later this week.
Yes, it's THAT time of year again. Thanksgiving.  That time of the year when Americans, like moi, gather with friends and family around the dinner table and pretty much eat ourselves into oblivion. Turkey and ham are traditional fare. Stuffing and cranberry sauce are practically de rigeur. Then there are the vegetables: mashed potatoes, baked beans, corn-on-the-cob, peas, perhaps a nice salad. Finally, there is the desert. Or deserts, in some cases. Pie is probably more traditional than cake, but I've known people who serve ice cream sundaes or homemade peanut butter milkshakes. Desert is where you can go a bit nuts.
Yes, that's the traditional Thanksgiving Day feast.
I grew up eating big dinners like that with my parents, grandparents and cousins.
These days?
It's just me.
I have pizza.
Pizza with a bit of garlic bread on the side and a glass of rum & coke.
Thanksgiving, now that I think about it, is the one holiday, aside from New Year's Eve, when I usually have a drink.
Sometimes, I might have a slice of apple pie or a bit of carrot cake.
But that's it.
Thanksgiving, for me, is not a holiday of excess. I call my family, post something nice on social media to my followers, and then eat pizza while watching bad movies.  I don't even watch the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade any more.
Don't get me wrong. I enjoy the holiday. I think it's nice to get together with the people you love. But you shouldn't need a holiday to do it.
And, really, these days, I'm not a big eater.  I might even forgo my traditional pizza for something lighter.  Maybe a turkey sandwich w/a nice salad.
But I'm not giving up the pie.
You can take the pie when you pry the fork from my cold, dead hand.