Thanksgiving 2017...

She's smiling in this one.Holy roasted turkey, batman! It has literally taken two hours to prepare for this post. First, I had to move the pictures from my phone to my computer. That took freakin forever. Just...forever. I tried emailing them to myself but it would only allow me to attach two photos at a time and the two emails I sent still haven't arrived in my inbox. Before you ask if I actually press send, let me stop you right there. I don't remember.

Anyway, once my phone had purged it's contents onto my computer, I spent half an hour deleting half of the pictures because they were ads for apps. How does that happen? Why did I have to do it right then? Because I am easily distracted.

This post is going to heavy on the sap...and pictures.

As we do every year, my family loaded up our van and headed to Nemo, Texas for our annual Thanksgiving at Gramma's. From where we live it's about an hour and fifteen minutes of driving. We added another half an hour this year because my sister doesn't trust her ride not to leave her stranded in the deep wild. Also, as is the tradition, we stopped at QT for drinks and snacks. If you've read this blog before, you know why we eat before we eat. If you have not, two words: Desert turkey.

Meenie, Poke, and Miney

Me and MeshaThis turkey must have been a terrible bird whilst among the living because my beloved Gramma is able to bake every last ounce of fluid from the flesh of that poor creature. It turns to dust when you touch it and we don't dare take a bite unless we have a pitcher of water within reach. This year was no different. I don't know what I would do if it ever was.
Someone brought mac and cheese this year. It was delicious. My Gramma had nothing to do with it's preparation, I assure you. Because it was delicious. My cousin was gnawing on a dry cornbread muffin when she turned to me and said, "I'm bringing the rolls next year." Then we reminisced about the good old days when we had dry brown and serve rolls instead of dry cornbread muffins.

My Gramma, Lord love her, will not allow any help so my aunts and Mesha, my cousin, have taken to sneaking dishes in on the sly. Mesha and I were talking about her dad's stuffing which her husband Michael said he would interrupt his nap for (that means it's done well) and she said I would love it, too. I told her I don't eat stuffing...ever. If someone is able to turn food gray, it's off the list forever. Gramma managed that a few years ago with her gray stuffing loaf. My father in law made gray gravy once.

If you squeeze the honey bear will it not bleed...ketchup.

I will have my picture...My cousins and I comment amongst ourselves about Gramma's inedible foods, but we still make the point to come every year. She calls every year to ask if we're coming. Every year we have a blessing on the food. Every year my cousin's widower comes bearing a cheesecake. Every year my cousin, Robin, greets me as Baby Diana.

Gotcha!

Still happyI was worried, when my Grampa died, that we would lose that side of the family. Sometimes patchwork families are only held together with the threads that bound them, but it hasn't been that way with us. When we get married, out spouses become part of the group and every one of them call my Gramma "Gramma" instead of her given name.

Gramma gonna show you how it's done.We've been lax about taking pictures in years past. I don't know how much longer Gramma will be burning turkeys and whipping up gray stuffing, but I won't make the mistake of not taking pictures again.

Happy Thanksgiving and Junk!