In seventeen years, I have only missed hosting Thanksgiving three times:
(1) 1999 – My son was born just a few weeks earlier and no one in my sleepless household was up to the task.
(2) 2005 – Two words. Hurricane Katrina. No home = no hosting space.
(3) 2006 – Still Katrina. That bitch meant business and kept us down for a while.
I love hosting Thanksgiving. It actually might be my favorite holiday … for the same reason that the rehearsal dinner is my favorite part of a wedding and Thursday was my favorite day of the week when I worked in a traditional office setting. These things all serve as the gateway to the main event. They are the proverbial firing of the starter’s pistol at the beginning of the race. That exciting overture is always my favorite point in time for most anything.
So, it was with heavy (well, let’s be honest … heavy-ish) heart that I relinquished the reins of a fourth Thanksgiving. To my wonderful parents, of course. Who were more than happy to help me and take hold of the hosting duties, which they don’t have as often as they’d like. (That last part really probably only pertains to my mom.)
I know my husband also really likes hosting for the holidays … so we’re at our own home. (Sorry, D.) And we like watching … or at least peripherally experiencing in the background … the whole Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade. It’s a tradition I’ve observed since I was very young. I love watching the Broadway performances, seeing the gargantuan character balloons (especially the vintage ones) and even listening to the cheesy banter between the hosts. And tomorrow is no exception. I don’t want to miss New Orleans’ own 610 Stompers. I’m proud to call several of these goofy male dance teamers my friends and can’t wait to see the show. I better not miss it since I’m changing locations this year.
Stupid lung mass. (cough, sputter) I mean … Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!