The Downsized Thanksgiving. The bird was the word.

What, no post about Thanksgiving? No picturesque scene of siblings, boy/girl friends, widows and orphans raising a toast of thanks? No amusing anecdotes about family capers while gathered around a full-to-bursting thanksgiving table?

No Austin and Meghan teasing Nora until she cried? No one laughing so hard they blew milk out their nose? No Stevil giving them all the hairy eyeball for dropping the f-bomb during dinner. No. That’s right, no. Not this year. For, like Macaulay Culkin, I was home alone. Suddenly single. Well, living singularly anyway.
The Husband resides in Casa di McInerny on the West Coast for the winter.

Nora’s shacked up in NYC working in the wonderful world of advertising.

Paddy, a proud member of the United States Navy, is assigned to the US Carney in Mayport, Florida.

Austin’s gone Ivy League on us and is working like a flogged dog at the University of Pennsylvania. Landscape Architecture NOT landscaping, thank-you-very-much. I couldn’t be prouder even if I were a Jewish mother.

That leaves Meggie. She hasn’t abandoned her mother as yet; she’s living in Golden Valley with Mr. Wonderful. But she did spend this holiday with her in-laws. Which left me alone. I could get sappy about how time flies and how the kids are all-growed-up-and-all. But I won’t. {This is me, now pretending to be sad. Alone. How delicious. It hasn’t been bad, but that is a topic for another post.}
What about the Thanksgiving meal? Huh? Did I eat Turkey Noodle Soup and fritos? No, sir, I did not. I did manage to break bread twice in one day. First, at my lovely sister, Rita’s. Her usual groaning sideboard and fully-extended-table to accommodate her cast of characters was also reduced to the bare essentials: Her Hubby, her beautiful girls. And me. Her usual crowd was also scattered this year. The small party did nothing to simplify the meal—she did it up right. We started the meal Italian style with a primi course of butternut squash ravioli--recipe courtesy of Doris. Yummy.

Then, over to northeast Minneapolis to the Gilhooly/Belks. Beth cooks good. Beth cooks big. White tablecloths. Real silver. Real Waterford. Bouquets of flowers everywhere. Real classy. And real fun. Martha before Martha got famous. Some years as many as 25 around a huge old table that extended into the living room. Like me, this holiday was supersized in reverse. Just the family, just the kids. And me. But bless Gilhooly, she didn’t hold back. It was the full-meal deal. I ate until I was full-to-bursting. And drove home alone.


Eating: Poached chicken bosoms, broccoli and carmelized onions.
Listening to: Vivaldi -- Eight Seasons by Gidon Kremer
Currently amused by: Project Runway NEW SEASON!