When I was a child, Thanksgiving, as the oldest, meant getting up at 6:30 and cooking cornbread, shredding wheat bread, and chopping stuff for hours until my mother said to stop.
As a 43 year old, it means the smell of bounce dryer sheets as I get the house ready for the kids and cooking cornbread/shredding wheat bread the night before, so it can dry out for the eight to ten hours of prepping I will do tomorrow for a feast on Thursday.
My one Magic Week, where I have both of Shiner’s kids at the same time.
Time Honored traditions; all I have to do is smell that second batch of cornbread and know that shiner’s son is an hour from here…
Like the 9 year old that I was..,
I would chop until sunset for my family.
Happy Thanksgiving. From mine to yours. Bless you all and may you have a wonderful holiday.