In view of the upcoming USAnian holiday on Thursday, it seemed like a
good idea to share the message I found in my e-mail IN box this morning.
There was a point where I did actually laugh out loud, and that is not
something that happens often when I read anything. Perhaps it will
amuse you, too.

For those not fortunate enough to live in the land of Free gun-carrying
wall builders and mosque closing demagogues, it might be useful to identify
Martha Stewart as a woman with a magazine, a reputation, and a former
television program on how creative diligence at home can turn even the most
modest hovel into a spectacular showpiece of glittering style and also
help you whip up gourmet meals in a jiffy. (Or in a kitchen maybe. LOL)

While this nation's southern border will soon be closed like the demented mind
of an insane political party, there has long been a tradition in the Southwest
part of the granfaloon (it's a very useful word; look it up, spread the meme,
of, of course, just move on:  https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Granfalloon  )
to line walkways with candles seated in sand inside a paper bag. The soft light
looks quite lovely, actually, so the idea has spread to other regions, and Martha
Stewart had nothing to do with it.

On a much more personal note, it is a constant struggle to realize how vast and
wonderful are the things to be grateful for, and to continually notice the ones it
is too easy to overlook and take for granted. This site and its members are among
the things I celebrate.

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Martha Stewart will not be dining with us this Thanksgiving. I'm telling
you in advance, so don't act surprised. Since Ms. Stewart won't be coming,
I've made a few small changes:

Our sidewalk will not be lined with homemade, paper bag luminarias. After
a trial run, it was decided that no matter how cleverly done, rows of
flaming lunch sacks do not have the desired welcoming effect.

Once inside, our guests will note that the entry hall is not decorated
with the swags of Indian corn and fall foliage I had planned to make.
Instead, I've gotten the kids involved in the decorating by having them
track in colorful autumn leaves from the front yard. The mud was their
idea.

The dining table will not be covered with expensive linens, fancy china,
or crystal goblets. If possible, we will use dishes that match and
everyone will get a fork. Since this IS Thanksgiving, we will refrain from
using the plastic Peter Rabbit plate and the Santa napkins from last
Christmas.

Our centerpiece will not be the tower of fresh fruit and flowers that I
promised. Instead we will be displaying a hedgehog-like decoration
hand-crafted from the finest construction paper. The artist assures me it
is a turkey.

We will be dining fashionably late. The children will entertain you while
you wait. I'm sure they will be happy to share every choice comment I have
made regarding Thanksgiving, pilgrims and the turkey hotline. Please
remember that most of these comments were made at 5:00 a.m. upon
discovering that the turkey was still hard enough to cut diamonds.

As accompaniment to the children's recital, I will play a recording of
tribal drumming. If the children should mention that I don't own a
recording of tribal drumming, or that tribal drumming sounds suspiciously
like a frozen turkey in a clothes dryer, ignore them. They are lying.

We toyed with the idea of ringing a dainty silver bell to announce the
start of our feast. In the end, we chose to keep our traditional method.
We've also decided against a formal seating arrangement. When the smoke
alarm sounds, please gather around the table and sit where you like. In
the spirit of harmony, we will ask the children to sit at a separate
table. In a separate room. Next door.

Now, I know you have all seen pictures of one person carving a turkey in
front of a crowd of appreciative onlookers. This will not be happening at
our dinner. For safety reasons, the turkey will be carved in a private
ceremony. I stress "private" meaning: Do not, under any circumstances,
enter the kitchen to laugh at me. Do not send small, unsuspecting children
to check on my progress. I have an electric knife. The turkey is unarmed.
It stands to reason that I will eventually win. When I do, we will eat.

I would like to take this opportunity to remind my young diners that
"passing the rolls" is not a football play. Nor is it a request to bean
your sister in the head with warm, tasty bread. Oh, and one reminder for
the adults: For the duration of the meal, and especially while in the
presence of young diners, we will refer to the giblet gravy by its
lesser-known name: Cheese Sauce. If a young diner questions you regarding
the origins or type of Cheese Sauce, plead ignorance. And remember,
Cheese Sauce stains.

Before I forget, there is one last change. Instead of offering a choice
between 12 different scrumptious desserts, we will be serving the
traditional pumpkin pie, garnished with whipped cream and small
fingerprints.

You will still have a choice; take it or leave it. I hope you aren't too
disappointed that Martha Stewart will not be dining with us this
Thanksgiving. She probably won't come next year either.

I am thankful for all of my Family and Friends.