I don't know about you, but I haven't had much time for knitting this weekend.
Thursday was spent making pumpkin pies (my annual contribution to whichever side of the family's, or set of not-yet-in-laws' Thanksgiving dinner), going to the movies, and eating dinner at Cory's mom's. Friday was a work day (the internet doesn't stop for Black Friday, haha)...and spending time with a good friend back in town for the weekend.
Somewhere in all of that though, I found myself a little sad as if something were missing. I picked up my knitting first, thinking surely I was just going through withdrawals...nope wasn't it. Then it occurred to me--I almost always spend the day in the kitchen with my mom on Thanksgiving--even when we don't end up eating there (I think I stuffed my first turkey at the age of twelve or so). I know from years past that it isn't necessarily the act of cooking with my mom (imagine two grown women running around a relatively small kitchen frantically trying to do everything THEIR way), but the act of cooking.
So, yesterday I got up early, made an apple pie (yes, from scratch), stuffed the turkey, made the cranberry, and with some much appreciated help peeling, prepared the yams and potatoes. I then of course cleaned the house frantically because company is a rarity around here and I don't necessarily want everyone that sees the place to say it looks 'lived in'. By the time we all sat down to eat, I realized that it's the challenge and the relaxation that comes from preparing the meal that has become my Thanksgiving ritual, the thing that really makes it a 'holiday' for me (plus I was amazed and got a little of the same rush I get finishing a project when the turkey didn't look like something out of Chevy Chase's Christmas Vacation).
Sitting there eating, with good friends and good food, I felt truly thankful.