Reader A.B. asks about my family's Thanksgiving traditions.
Here in North Olmsted traditions are both simple and longstanding. As extended family lives hundreds of miles away in at least two directions, the dinner at home, like other holidays, has rarely been more than my immediate family of four and a guest or two. With some exceptions, like 1993, when Comedy Central broadcast the third of five Mystery Science Theater 3,000 marathons, someone will turn on the Macy's parade so it can play in the background while food is cooked. Invariably the parade will become so insipid that someone will mute it, but by then thoughts have turned to nonce appetizers — dried beef wrapped around the ends of scallions, sour cream as an adhesive. When I lived at home I would hide away for the rest of the morning, maybe play a computer game; in fact, one Thanksgiving morning I memorably beat a favorite, Nova 9. Come noon or one, the hen is ready, and my father's carving work sits girdled by mashed potatoes, stuffing, sweet potatoes, greens, biscuits and cranberry something-or-other. Dinner is followed by coffee, and then conversation.