Warning: sincere sentimentality ahead!

I love Thanksgiving. Just last weekend, some friends and I were discussing how much we love this holiday. There are no presents involved. Everyone gets together and has a good time. There’s lots of great food. And the list goes on and on.

One reason I love Thanksgiving is because everyone (in the United States, that is) celebrates it. No one is against Thanksgiving (except for some truly whacked-out PC extremists or PETA freaks or something).

For me and my family (aka Tim and Auggie), we’ll make our way down to my hometown on Wednesday night, set up camp at the old homestead (nee my old bedroom even) and hang out with my dad for the evening. Thanksgiving day, we head across the creek (I’m not kidding, here) to my Grandma’s house for lunch. She makes all the classics — turkey (actually, my dad usually smokes this beginning in the wee hours of the morning), chicken and dumplings (if your family does not partake of this particular country delicacy, I pity you and your kin), dressing, gravy, candied yams (oh baby), homemade bread (so good they fight over the heels), green beans, mashed potatoes, pecan pie, pumpkin pie with real whipped cream and, inexplicably, German chocolate cake (probably because she does it so well).

My lifestyle program can take a hike for the day, although I’ll probably roll out for a walk at some point.

Once we finish spending some quality time with the miscreants that are my father’s side of the family, we’ll head on over (way to the other corner of the county) to my mother’s. There, we will stuff ourselves once again with her delicious leftovers (she rules candied yamland — not affiliated with Candyland — and those evil, evil cornmeal rolls) and I will wipe the Trivial Pursuit board with my brother’s simpering carcass. (Consider that the “gauntlet,” mon frere.)

I am so hungry right now…