Thanks, America.

Happy Thanksgiving, American friends! The Canadian Thanksgiving was in October, but I know you celebrate this week, so I’ re-running a Thanksgiving post of mine from a few years ago.

But first, here are a few American things that I am thankful for:

1. The Republican candidate debates. (They’re making the lull before “3o Rock” almost bearable.)
2. Your sugary cereal. The cold cereal aisle at Wegman’s or Publix are what I imagine the tunnel to heaven looks like.
3. Your tenacity and passion. I may not agree with everything you do, but boy, if you get onto something you believe in, you’ll pitch a tent and die there. 
4. Alan Alda.
5. You’re loyal. This sometimes bites you in the ass, but I admire the sentiment.
6. Cheeburger Cheeburger.
7. John Steinbeck.
8. Your accents. I love everything aboot them.

_____________________________________________________________________________

Just another excuse to eat maple syrup

This weekend is the Canadian Thanksgiving holiday. It is similar to the American Thanksgiving, but with fewer French Fried onion and marshmallow topped casseroles, hockey instead of football, and when we slice our hand open carving the maple basted turkey, the ambulance ride, emergency room visit, and subsequent 12 stitches are covered.

I know that some people don’t “believe” in Thanksgiving. I understand and respect the reasons and the protests. But “not believe?” What’s not to “believe” in ? It not like we’re talking about Unicorns, purgatory, or free will.

Because I will be spending the next few days consuming my body weight in turkey and pumpkin pie, I may be MIA until Tuesday or so due to tryptophan induced stupor. I’ve been busy doing Thanksgiving prep this week in all of my spare time – priming my stomach to consume copious amounts of maple syrup drenched acorn squash and maple syrup and bacon Brussel sprouts by eating lots of Bran Buds and bread products. I also tied one end of my “turkey eating” yoga pants to the fence, shut the other end in the van door and then drove slowly down the driveway to fully stretch out the waist band to make them more suited to a weekend of gluttony.

The kids and I are celebrating Thanksgiving on Sunday with typical holiday fare: turkey, disappointment, mashed potatoes, guilt, sage stuffing and resentment.

On Monday we all go to the PM’s place for another meal. That one worries me. My children are not the best at sitting still at dinner tables, and prefer the “drive by” style of eating. My son has eaten entire meals by stopping for bites between cartwheels and couch diving flip flops. His outfit also concerns me a tinge. He has pre-planned it and it is hanging on his doorknob waiting:  a pair of skull and cross-bone swim trunks (too small,) a khaki nylon vest (shirtless underneath because “it looks cooler”) Bakugan knee socks, and his Budweiser beer can hat.

To that dinner I am taking pumpkin pie, whipped cream, and ample portions of self-loathing.

Happy Thanksgiving everyone!

_____________________________________________________________________________.