I can’t believe this wonderful month has almost come to an end! When I reflect back on all the late Novembers in my life, I’m confronted with the vicissitudes of the human condition: the joy of living, the pangs of regret, the comfort of companionship, the fear of failure, the exhilaration of romance—you name it. In more recent years I recall a bloated belly stuffed with the Mother of All Meals and having to slip into those larger pair of trousers I had discarded in the basement during more joyous days of moderation and self-restraint.
My wife, bless her heart, keeps the seasonal baked goods coming. While most people have begun to put the Thanksgiving feasting behind them, I saunter back into the kitchen with a wandering eye for yet another slice of pumpkin pie at the top and bottom of each hour—not to mention the segments of time in between. In my defense, I’m not alone. A day or two after Thanksgiving proper, the whole family’s still going at it with the leftovers. Behind closed doors, we all put on our feedbags, just as we had the day before, always careful to tie them loosely enough in case a neighbor stops over for a chit-chat. Should a visitor have the audacity to knock on our door and interrupt our gorging, we then take off the bags quickly (and temporarily) to give the allusion that we’re a normal family with at least a semblance of decorum at the dining table. We even place eating utensils next to our plates to make the ruse that much more convincing. Once we get rid of the intruder, we continue to let the gastronomical barges flow into our alimentary canals.
I've mentioned in past blog entries that my studies and trip to Istanbul turned me into a Turcophile. Truth is, I'm much more a Turkeyfile, because daddy likes to file that bird right down the "cabinet" of his gullet. Keep the apple and pumpkin pies coming, I say! A regular subscriber to the "more is more" philosophy of life, I seriously considered undergoing an operation that would extend my piehole so that I could throw not slices, but entire pies, down the hatch. (The exit hole seems to augment of its own accord in time.) My insurance wouldn't cover the expenses for such a surgery, however. To be clear, though, Thanksgiving isn't about the food. It's about gratitude for the blessings we've received. In the spirit of Thanksgiving, then, I'd like to express my gratitude first and foremost for that turkey and gravy, plus biscuits with butter and scrumptious pies. Yum!
I've mentioned in past blog entries that my studies and trip to Istanbul turned me into a Turcophile. Truth is, I'm much more a Turkeyfile, because daddy likes to file that bird right down the "cabinet" of his gullet. Keep the apple and pumpkin pies coming, I say! A regular subscriber to the "more is more" philosophy of life, I seriously considered undergoing an operation that would extend my piehole so that I could throw not slices, but entire pies, down the hatch. (The exit hole seems to augment of its own accord in time.) My insurance wouldn't cover the expenses for such a surgery, however. To be clear, though, Thanksgiving isn't about the food. It's about gratitude for the blessings we've received. In the spirit of Thanksgiving, then, I'd like to express my gratitude first and foremost for that turkey and gravy, plus biscuits with butter and scrumptious pies. Yum!