It was everything you imagine it to be. It was two turkeys, one perfectly rotisseried, and one that just wouldn’t cook until well after the dishes were cleared. It was round after round of Truffle (Trouble, of course, and the first person to correct him answers to me,) with cousins and uncles, all who’ve long outgrown the game, but all good enough sports to endure one more game than was probably tolerable. It was a little girl who resembles her late great-grandmother in a way that made people look, and then look again. It was a kids table set by the fire outside, with the sounds of the ocean for a soundtrack. It was a four year old approaching his gramma in the kitchen and asking if he’s having grilled cheese for dinner as she patiently stirs the gravy until it’s perfect. It’s a gramma saying, “Of course,” despite the hours she’s spent on this practically perfect meal. It’s a baby sister who (unsurprisingly) eats everything on her plate, and starts taking things directly off of the forks of those around her when she runs out. It was tucking tired and happy children into bed well past their bedtimes and an early, tryptophan induced bedtime for the grown-ups. It was Thanksgiving, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.