This morning Jillian and I walked down Tryon, and chatted with this horse.
And looked at these barns.
Then, with some simple mental math, we decided we canceled out 1/45th of today’s energy intake, and made our way home to prep our tum tums for some fantastic noshing.
In our family, we value education. Enter: our Thanksgiving history lesson.
Education shmeducation. My aunt just covers our seats with pilgrims and turkeys. Close enough, right?
Auntie Sharon does it up right. Look at all that business on the chandelier.
Buffalo chicken dip is dope. Dunk, dip, slather, eat with a spoon. Nothing is better than buff chick dip.
Weenies, weenies, weenies. Chocolate before dinner.
And welcome to the 7th grade dance.
oOoOo… the boy’s room…
… and the giiiiirl’s room.
Delumptuous (this is a word)…
Get in my belly.
Turkey, turkey, turkey, TURKEY, turkey, turkey, turk. (Sorry to everyone present for singing one word jingles far too many times)
Dad decided to cut half the bird like Bobby Flay does — big ole hunks to keep the juice in. Bobby taught Dad this morning when he was on Rachael Ray’s show.
While Dad carved, we popped open some chocolate wine. Grandma deduced that she’d rather enjoy the two as separate entities.
A few Aussie throw backs:
My aunt used a koala clip to seal up the cupcakes, and I spotted the aboriginal painted coasters in the dining room.
And the main event. Jillian made pumpkin pie (it was outrageously delicious), and Uncle Dicky Van Gogh-ed it.
A simple Keurig lesson and Gram’s apple crumb. Doesn’t get better.
Why hello, cupcake tree. How might you be on this fine November evening?
Do some giving, do some thanking. Make your body horizontal.