OFD 2012

I write lists.  Lists are essential if anything is going to get done.  And

OFD is no exception.  Had I not put this on the counter under my 

keys, we may never have had mussels in beer-basil butter, or 

skewered shrimp with curry-coconut sauce, or asian-flavored

rib-ends with shiitake mushrooms.  The gravy may not have been

as amazing as it turned out to be (but I'm sure it would have been

awesome regardless), and we would have had two less ice

creams to serve with the assortment of pies.  

But since I woke up way early on Thursday, with thoughts

buzzing in my head about what I was going to serve first once we

got to Mojo's, the list was but a formality.  

Two of my three Baywomen.  Photo taken during our annual visit

to Greenwich Cove, down the road from my cousin's, after hors

d'oeuvres and before dinner.  This whole foreground was well 

under water during Sandy, and at least halfway up the stairway 

to the porch of the house in the background.  I'm surprised

the dinghy racks are still there. 

On the rocks.

"I must say, though, that it is particularly heartwarming to see the 

passion of our next gen for this day that seems to grow even 

stronger by the year.  This flame will be passed along for many, 

many years.  In fact, Patti was saying to me this afternoon that 

even though she never met the man (Grandpop) who started it all,

 she could imagine how proud he would be to see his great 

grandchildren partaking so vigorously in the day's traditions.  

That got me picturing him with us on the manporch, 

puffing contentedly on a Dominican."

That was Mojo's reply to my lamenting email from Friday,

while at work, bumming out about working

 and looking ahead to being at work all weekend.  I'd

mentioned how I am always depressed the day after THXG, 

and how eventually I get over it, only after hours of self-pity.

The Man at the head of the table, who started this tradition.

This may be the earliest documentation of OFD, taken in

my grandparents' summer bungalow on the Metedeconk 

River, in Cedarcroft, NJ, the heart of the Jersey Shore.  

It was a varnished picnic table with a tablecloth, and two 

benches for the grown-ups.  The card table for the kids 

was usually behind the photographer (Uncle Don).  But the 

card table may not have been deployed at this early date;  

highchair trays were probably the platforms for most of us, 

on which the turkey and gravy were smeared.  Following

 is another of Mojo's commentaries:

"This is incredible!  I never knew (or forgot if told long ago) that

both sets of my grandparents dined together for Thanksgiving.

Clockwise, seated to Gigi's left, is the Detroit contingent of

Eleanor (given name Daisy) and Bill (given name Leon) Clarke,

with George next to Bill on the far end.  To his left is Bev, with a 

mystery space (Don, the photog!!), and then Dot and Jim

(nice buzz cut) on the near end.  If it's November '62, I was 4-1/2,

and you were 1-1/2; our clever parents had no doubt already

applied our Port rations, and we were napping soundly on the oval-

shaped cotton rag rug on the floor in front of the fireplace while

they dined.  Or not.  :-))"

Thursday was quite a peaceful day, especially compared to the

torrent that passed through here almost a month ago

Baydog and Mojo.

Mojo, would you move that freakin fat separator? 

And for anybody who was wondering about the item 'glasses'

on my list earlier, there they are hanging from my collar.

I can't do anything any more without them. 

BTW, that was only one of two turkeys that day...

Evidence of a great session on Mojo's manporch.  There were

many incriminating photos associated with this one, and the blogger

decided that it was in our family's best interest to exclude them.

Glass of 2012.  We spent the day in Connecticut, but we visited

France, California, Spain, and Portugal.  

I had severe jet-lag on Friday.

Update:  Doc Haagen Dazs had asked about the Wiener Dog.

The Ween doesn't play nicely with other dogs, even her cousins,

when we're present.  It seems to be a protection/territory issue.

The last two or three OFDs, she's spent the day in a crate in 

Mojo's laundry room, while everyone else milled about 

drinking and eating.  This THXG, she spent the day and night

with about a dozen assorted pooches, at a place that doesn't

have a problem giving insulin injections.  When I drop her off,

they meet us in the driveway so as not to cause a stir with the

rest of the guests, and she trots inside, never looking back.

It's a perfect solution to an otherwise uncomfortable situation.

Their nice back yard was way better than an indoor crate.