All the things you took for granted

Packing the car, taking special care of the thing you're supposed to bring for dinner

The long drive and the luminous trees

The driveway full of cars

Cousins and aunts and uncles. Relatives that don't "get" you, even though they try

New girlfriends and new husbands and new babies and neighbours you've never met

The turkey plates

The kids' table where you once sat

Grandfather carving the bird

Small talk

The mounds of food. Turkey and gravy and stuffing and home made buns with real butter and harvard beets and cranberry sauce and sweet potatoes and mashed potatoes and brussels sprouts and turnip and ham 

And the pies. So many pies. Fruit pies. Pumpkin pies. Flapper pies. With whipped cream or ice cream or both.

The endless cups of coffee 

Cleaning up. The women in the kitchen. The men in the living room. Kids underfoot. You and your cousin sneaking another bun with turkey even though you feel you might explode.

The drive home 

Looking at the stars. Stars that seem to go on forever. 

All the things you took for granted.

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