As I lay in bed trying to digest another Thanksgiving dinner, sweating out the gravy literally oozing from my pours, I felt grateful not only for the family and close friends willing to drive 160 km north to share it with us, but for the unique and memorable moments that came this weekend courtesy of neighbouring cottage kids.
With a stove full of food, a house full of guests and seven kids running underfoot, admittedly my attention was somewhat scattered. I didn’t really notice the tub of Glow In The Dark Mars Mud that had come back from the kids’ trip to the town store (a Thanksgiving “Must Have” according to Delia and the Pilgrims). I lost track of it after she, Bodie and a friend did their requisite nasal gag, each with a strand of green goo stuck to their upper lip, the pre-Thanksgiving dinner floor show. But when I heard their friend say “Ooo, it’s a facial!” while slapping a wad of chemically engineered putty onto her cheek, I should have known it was only a matter of time before …
As close as I’ll ever come to the ancestral harvesting of the wheat field, I spent the next hour and a half pulling her mangled crop of hair from the goo’s gluey grip.
But beyond the festivities, I was especially thankful for the conversation I got to have with my neighbour’s five-year old grandson when he showed up at our door to see the bunny.
“Hey Owen, happy Thanksgiving!”
“My dad had ball surgery.”
“Oh, my. Well … wow.”
Blank stare. From both of us.
“Our bunny had surgery too.”
“So if you pick him up, be really gentle, okay?”
“Cuz’ he’s still a little tender.”
Plastic arrow smacking against plastic bow. Over. And over. And over.
“My dad says he’s gonna sit on peas all weekend.”
“That sounds like a good idea.”
“Does your bunny have peas?”
“No, no peas for Winnie. Hey, how’s your new baby brother?”
“Good. My dad says he’s the last one, so we’d better like him.”
“Ah … I see.”
“Well, I hope you guys have a nice dinner! What are you having?”
“Turkey. And stuff. Probably peas.”
“Ooo … nice.”