Over the River and Through the Woods

For the last several years, we have given my mom the option of moving the Thanksgiving feast to Brother #1's house. But each year, Mom chooses to host the starving masses. As long as she is willing and able, we are happy to oblige. I hope you know, Mom, that you can pass the baton, or the drumstick, whenever you want.

It's a little bit less work now that Bro #1 also makes the turkey and brings it in from Chicago. He cooks it on his Weber grill, and let me tell you, it is probably the best turkey this side of Mars. I don't know how they manage to resist pulling over and attacking it; the turkey actually makes it all the way. It's like a Thanksgiving Miracle.

Bro #2 is in town. He arrived yesterday, and tomorrow we will drive together up to the hinterlands for Thanksgiving. Meanwhile, my talented, handy, patient Bro #2 is slowly working his way through a considerable "honey do" list. That's my Thanksgiving Miracle.