No Fighting, Is This Thanksgiving?

Well happy Thanksgiving to you and yours. I hope that none of you needed to break out the Adele Hello song at the dinner table. We have more than survived a happy day thanks in no small part to our South African friends the Ushpols — Mark, Kelly, Cait and Adam who are great sports at my parents Thanksgiving table.
This is the second year we have these friends come for lunch so they had a fairly good idea of what life on the farm is like. The good news is we had very little political discussion despite the potential mind fields all the candidates have provided us.  
Rudely, we arrived later than the Ushpols at my own parents home. Luckily my father wasted no time getting everyone drinks and we gathered in the living room where my mother had cleared away enough needlepoint pillows so we could all sit in one place. When the last drink was poured my father finally joined us where he started the conversation by saying, “I’m worried about the turkey.” This does not seem like the best thing to say to all your guests at Thanksgiving.  
Knowing his perfectionism about cooking I asked him if he had a turkey and when he said, “yes,” to then explain his worry. Just as I expected, his fears were unfounded. He followed my favorite Alton Brown brined turkey recipe and it cooked faster than he expected. There was no real problem, we just moved up the eating time by forty five minutes, no turkey was over cooked, or burned, or was still frozen, no disaster, as my father had tried to lead us to believe.
After a big feast of what my mother called an unnecessary number of vegetables. We took a break from the table to take a walk and enjoy the practically perfect weather. The best part about the farm is that where ever we walk if there is anyone else around they are probably related to me. I got to see all my cousins and all their children. The best line of the day came from eight year old Sam who asked who Russ was, and his ten year old cousin Eva said, “Carter’s dad.” Carter as the oldest cousin of her generation is like a celebrity so Sam nodded that Russ was fine as long as he was with Carter.
Our walk was not long enough to counteract the dessert damage we went back to the table to do. Kelly made a pastry chef quality white chocolate cheese cake and Carter had made Pecan crack pies. Only my father did not indulge. So while the rest of us were in a sugar coma my father started to question Adam about the recent school fall formal. Adam was a very good sport about taking my father’s dating advice, not that he is actually taking it, but he listened intently while all the parents of teenagers at the table worried what he might suggest next.
In the end it was a fun day and the best part for me is I missed the only bad thing that happened when my father dropped pan of leftover creamed onions on the floor. If that is the only disaster at a family Thanksgiving then I consider it a success. I hope yours was too and we all have a lot to be thankful for.