Holiday weekend, day by day
Day One: Cooked a turkey for the first time in my life. It browned up nicely and no one died, so that warrants a “mission accomplished.” Daughter brought the pre-dinner snacks. Sis brought dessert. Pal From Work showed up with wine. Marine Rifle Team Leader showed up with an appetite. (He got a pass this year on contributions to dinner. That’s what combat in Iraq gets you.) Everyone at the table declared their thanks for specific events from the past year. I went twice. Got lots to appreciate these days.
Day Two: Drove to Hartwell, Georgia, to spend the weekend with Sweetie’s family. A lovely, gracious bunch who have endeared themselves to me profoundly. In residence were nine adults, four pre-school youngsters, two teenagers and three dogs. House is a huge, rambling log structure on the shore of a lake. Men had departed for the hunting camp by the time we arrived. Spent the evening with ladies and kids. Enjoyed every second of it. Civilized, womenfolk are.
Day Three: Hunters returned and elaborate negotiations over television time ensued. Present were fervent fans of three institutions of higher football achievement: Clemson, Auburn and Georgia. All three teams had games against arch-rivals being televised that day. Luckily, the game times were staggered just enough so that the two TV sets in the house proved sufficient. Had there been a problem, I (the Georgia fan) would have surrendered gracefully. I was the guest. Besides, other fellows were heavily armed. All three teams won, so peace prevailed. At least until next year’s Georgia-Auburn game.
Day Four: Rainy and cold. Hunters returned to the field. Invited me to come along. I declined. Spent most of my 20s engaged in outdoor adventure (or misadventure, as was usually the case). Glad to have done it. Glad it’s behind me. Like being dry and warm these days. Instead, drove to Athens, Georgia, to have lunch and wander old college haunts. Ate at the Varsity, the world-famous eatery with six locations around the state. Gratified to know that countermen still shout, “What’ll ya have?” when you walk in door, and that steaks are still glorified. After lunch, went in search of Beaver City, the rural collection of run-down cabins where I lived during college. Found it after an hour search, and called a buddy to report on its condition. “Looks like a slum,” I said. He corrected me. “Still a slum,” he said.
Day Five: Drove home in a foggy drizzle. Steve Earle sang, windshield wipers kept time, I helped out with the harmony parts. Realized I was already collecting things to publicly appreciate next Thanksgiving.