Let's get real here.

That's what Thanksgiving should look like. Smiles, family, perfect turkey, clean, unwrinkly clothes. Yes. That's the picture of Thanksgiving.

--------------------------

Every year our friends do a Turkey Bowl--basically a game of touch football--on Thursday morning. I wasn't going to go. I was put in charge of more cooking this year than I ever had before, and so I thought I'd stay home. But then, everyone was leaving...and well, I decided I could do it. (Side note: Target lunch time is 1:30)
So I get back and start cooking cream corn in my sweat pants and t-shirt. Things are going pretty great--I'm taking my time, singing along to Les Mis. Then one thing leads to the next, and it's 1:00 before I know it. People start coming in showered, and looking all spiffy in their Thanksgiving clothes and all...and I've still got an apple pie, green beans, and sweet tea to make. Not to mention I'm still in sweat pants. So, I scrape everything together, put the apple pie on hold, and run back to my room. I had picked out my outfit the night before. It was just the thing you might see in a Norman Rockwell painting... except, I forgot to wash those jeans...and iron that shirt... I pull the jeans out of the dirty clothes pile--they don't smell too bad--and the shirt isn't that wrinkled. So much for some nice looking hair-do--there's still an apple pie in the kitchen waiting on me. This Thanksgiving, I'll be sporting the Turkey Bowl pony-tail.
So much for the creative pinterest-inspired pie-crust I had planned to make--this thing's just going in the oven. "Who cares what it looks like as long as it tastes good?" I said as I put it in the oven. But I did. I cared what it looked like.
My picture-perfect Norman Rockwell Thanksgiving was down the drain.

Funny, because writing all this down a week later, it all seems pretty insignificant, and I feel silly telling you I was really in a bad mood about all this--but I was.

But, with the help of my lovely mother (who took charge of the green beans and helped with the apple pie.), everything was ready on time ("on time" may not be completely accurate, but the Lunsfords haven't ever been "on time" for a Thanksgiving meal yet. Why break tradition?), and the table was loaded with a feast an Elvin party could have been proud of.
And lemme tell you. Food, family, and friends makes everything okay. It's like a miracle drug for an ailing soul.
I'm sure we've had some pretty great, near Rockwell style Thanksgivings before, but I don't remember them. I do remember the time we ate three hours late because we forgot to take the turkey out of the freezer to thaw (you've never heard such stomach rumblings before). And the time the grocery store accidentally gave us a ham instead of turkey. And that one time the water in the house didn't work so we had to wash all the dishes outside with the water-hose (and it was cold too). And the time we had to microwave the turkey because it didn't cook fast enough.

Picture perfect Thanksgivings might be nice in theory--or hanging on the wall--but really, it's the mess-ups that are most memorable. Those are the ones you find yourself laughing at years down the road.

Two of My Favorites

I'm a bit late here, but I couldn't let the birthdays of my two favorite authors go by without acknowledging it.

November 29, 1898: 

 

C.S. Lewis. 

(Clive Staples Lewis, but many called him Jack.)

I think that if I could study under an imperfect human being (that is, any human other than Jesus) it would the this guy. 

He was brilliant.

"The books or the music in which we thought the beauty was located will betray us if we trust to them; it was not in them, it only came through them, and what came through them was longing. These things—the beauty, the memory of our own past—are good images of what we really desire; but if they are mistaken for the thing itself they turn into dumb idols, breaking the hearts of their worshippers. For they are not the thing itself; they are only the scent of a flower we have not found, the echo of a tune we have not heard, news from a country we have never yet visited." 

-C.S. Lewis. 

It makes me happy to think that he's seen it now. He's found the flower, heard the tune, and lives in that country. 

November 30, 1874:

L.M. Montgomery. 

(Lucy Maud Montgomery. She went by Maud.)

Author of my favorite series of all time: Anne of Green Gables. I've yet to read a book by her that I don't like.

We actually just started reading Anne of Green Gables as a family. She has a way of wrapping up magic in words and putting it on the page in a way that sends a certain kind of loveliness into the very depths of my soul and makes me feel as if I were flying--in a strange, wonderful sort of way.

Every time I open up those Anne books, finger the pages and smell of them, and read just the first few lines, I feel as if I've come home. It's a familiar place that I'll never tire of. 

“Isn't it splendid to think of all the things there are to find out about? It just makes me feel glad to be alive--it's such an interesting world. It wouldn't be half so interesting if we know all about everything, would it? There'd be no scope for imagination then, would there?" 

-Anne Shirley (L.M. Montgomery)