Due to the pandemic the children are not coming. The adults will set a table for two and wait for the zoom chat after the game with the Dallas Cowboys and the Washington Football Team formerly known as the Redskins.
They will double their Thanksgiving feast of Burger’s Hickory Smoked Spiral Sliced City ham, Betty Crocker’s Cheddar and Bacon Scalloped potatoes, Bake House Creations Crescent rolls, oven roasted Brussel sprouts with bacon, sliced acorn squash with a brown sugar glaze, and a five cup Ambrosia salad of sour cream, pineapple tidbits, canned Mandarin oranges in light syrup, organic flake coconut and mini marshmallows marinated until the marshmallows get gooey and impart sweetness to the sour cream.
The Trump over Biden over any Democrat arguments will thankfully not happen this year and blissfully never again. For this year, at least, things will seem to return to normal. The miracle will go by unrecorded, unnoticed.
They are secretly glad they don’t have to dress up in the Pilgrim and Indian dress embroidered with wild turkeys, Indian corn that creased around to reveal the vast wild fields and forest ready to be explored and traded for beads and promises of sharing the American bounty; the ugly Garfield the Cat sweater over the crisp white shirt and black slacks bought at the J.C. Penny liquidation sale. Today Dad will proudly wear his aqua Miami Dolphins jersey, sweat pants, socks and comfy ‘Phins black briefs with the not so stretchy waist band.
Go Tua, memories of the undefeated Dolphins 1972 season, the big Thanksgiving brawls of 1977 spurred by Conrad Dobler ***** hits on Bob Griese, the Dan Marino five Turkey Day interceptions against the Dallas Cowboys in 1999 that was the final sunset of a first ballot Hall of Farmer career danced in Dad’s head. Mom just wanted to catch up on all those Dark Shadows soaps and Housewives of Whatever she missed. Dressed in her blue angels nightgown she rolled her eyes when first football game of the day switched on.
They vaguely dreamed of the days when his hair was thick and black and hers was long, golden and easy; all the trips they planned and sometimes took where they climbed bluffs and overlooked storybook plains.
Today they would look at each other with the same everyday stare and notice their wrinkled hands and clink together the strong, cheap wine poured into leftover mason jars. They toasted each other and whatever would come next, the decades of side by side, their great good luck, the incoming Zoom of children and grandchildren.