They came. We hugged. We laughed. We prayed, and then we ate turkey and pie. We talked and talked and laughed some more. We cleaned up (mostly), and then we hugged again and they all went home.
For some reason my hunk o' burnin' love chose to paint the guest bathroom this morning. I roasted a fresh, 22-pound turkey and lit scented candles around the house. Our seventeen guests included a stroke victim who has trouble communicating, an almost-one-year-old baby, a young soldier, an 83-year-old man, two college kids, and a young couple in the first phase of love. It was wonderful.
Here's a photo of our traditional Thanksgiving centerpiece, an arrangement of white roses in an antique compote that holds a special meaning for my family.
The giblet gravy was the best ever. Even if I do say so myself.
I can't say it was the best Thanksgiving ever because my Number One Son didn't make it in from Chicago. But it was wonderful, and I hope yours was, too.