Week of Food!

Whoever is tagging "Pony Boy" gets two hundred points.

Thanksgiving was somewhat mundane, as it always is. The family is flat, not of us really want to see each other, we all get a bit tipped and eat way to much. It's a strange, very American sort of holiday, I think.

But more to the point: I threw my own pre-Thanksgiving, yet again, and it was one of the greatest successes it's ever been. Almost everyone I cared about was there. No one did anything hurtful. Despite the turkey, which was covered in bacon, setting off a minor smoke bomb in the kitchen that lead to temporary blindness and my drunken conviction that I had, much to my mother's chagrin, finally set the house on fire. However, it turned out perfectly, despite all odds against it.

And I actually felt wonderful, to see us all there, surrounding a table. It was the most Norman Rockwell of moments, the actual purpose of a holiday like this, made real rather than obligatory. And for once it felt satisfying to participate in a holiday, a tradition, because we had made it our own and made it mean something.

And there, over the turkey, we sang "Day Man." Completely spontaneously.

We are all together in this, I realized, as much as we are apart. We cannot escape each other if we wanted to, and though we may not be holding hands and facing the world, we are cheek to jowl, glaring into the distance and wondering what the hell is up ahead.