Exquisite

 with thanks and appreciation to Rusty Douglas, who reminded me that I am an author and that maybe I should write a little more often

Every once in a while, the planets align and Mercury is not in retrograde and the stars shine brightly, meaning the best of energies filter into your systems and those you love and you experience a couple days of exquisiteness.

That was this past Thanksgiving weekend.  It was nothing short of exquisite.  And since the universe is full of what all too often to me feels like apocalyptic times, I'm gratefully seizing the opportunity to share what filled my heart and soul.

Thanksgiving Day, I cuddled in bed,  jammies clad, with my youngest daughter, Bridget, and granddaughter Sloane while we watched the Macy's Day parade.  Sloane was entranced by the Broadway snippets; her little brother marched along with the bands; both thought the balloons were magical.  While we lounged under the covers, my youngest granddaughter, Georgia, FaceTimed with Sloane to show her she had lost her first tooth. Sloane reminded us at the end of the parade, with six year old wisdom, that the Santa on the float was not the real Santa, rather simply one of his helpers because the real Santa is pretty busy up at the North Pole these days.  Later, my oldest daughter, Molly, and the Spousal Unit™ joined us.  We played games.  Ace, 2 1/2, is immersed in All Things Dinosaur, which involves him handing you one of his dinosaur collection, telling you which one it is, then having your dino and his T-Rex (always the T-Rex) engage in conversation and activity.  I got in a nap (as the girls commandeered the kitchen, though I made the traditional stuffing).  Dinner included what you would expect to see on a Thanksgiving table with the exception of the spatchcocked turkey.  I had to look that up when Bridget told me we were having a spatchcocked fowl, first because you have to admit it sounds at least a wee bit kinky and second, to ensure said turkey can be stuffed because in my humble opinion, outside the bird stuffing is a poor substitute for inside the bird stuffing.

Friday morning, we road tripped to Des Moines for the 33rd non-consecutive (thank you, COVID) O'Smithsky Second Thanksgiving. (A previous blog describes the origin story of the Second Thanksgiving.)  And really, I can sum up the time we spent together as nothing short of exquisite.  Every person, every family, corrals components into an exquisite experience unique unto themselves, so I won't describe in detail our experience of exquisite.  Naturally it involved oodles of luscious foods and beverages.  Of course there was a heightened decible level caused by the squeals of delight from many small children, a few who have too rapidly begun knocking on the door of adolescence--how did that happen?.  The weather cooperated so travel was safe and kids chose to go outside to play (even though I recall a couple very snowy, cold Second Thanksgivings when the children still made that choice...and the one, pre-third generation, when the adult males chose, around midnight, to set up an outdoor bowling game comprising of mostly empty beer cans and He Must Not Be Named's bowling ball which he had inherited from my dad).  The dogs frolicked; we caught sight of them racing past the door, or their faces pressed somewhat forlornly against the windows in vain hope of being invited indoors.  We shoved down news of the world and kept two screens going all day Saturday, one playing the loop of National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation, the other a loop of Home Alone.  

My Friend Jeanie™ most appropriately summed up the exquisiteness in the pre-meal grace which she has offered lo, all these many years.  Usually I ask you to bow your heads, Jeanie said, but this year, I want you to look around.  We started with 3 families and now, just look.  Look at all this love.

Look at all this love.  How exquisite.  

And then, of course, because the Second Thanksgiving would not be complete without the O'Smithsky patented SuperTurk trivia game, we engaged in the ever new and perpetually improved video version of the event. Luke Luft developed a version for the little kids:

                                                    And the adult teams are below

There is always a way to steal the game from the (alleged) winners, this year resulting in Bridget, and My Friend Jeanie's™ granddaughter, Gwen (age 13) being crowned the Grand Prize Winners, bragging rights only.

Thank you for indulging me in the sharing this story.  I feel exquisite.  And my fervent hope for you this holiday season is that you do, too.