Novemebr 24th was Thanksgiving in the United States.
We have a huge amount of traditions and “history” and truth that isn’t always related to “history” (even by implication) surrounding that holiday.
Those who know me personally will not be surprised at all when I say I’m a little bit of an odd duck, especially when it comes to holidays that involve family gatherings. The crux of the matter is that I don’t feel comfortable in other people’s space… and its corollary is also true. I rarely feel comfortable with other people in my space.
Don’t get me wrong. My family has never made me feel unwelcome in any way, and I love meeting my cousin every once in a while for dinner after he gets off work. But we always meet at the restaurant, which is easier and much more comfrotable for me. It’s not a statement on him or anything like that. It’s just one of my social quirks. I like neutral ground.
When people ask me how was my [insert holiday here], I always answer with, “Nice and quiet, just the way I like it.” In all honesty, holidays don’t look any different to me know than any other day. When you set your own schedule and your daily commute is twenty feet, your life has the structure you set for it… and holidays have never been a big thing to me.
This year, though, I did something that used to be a staple in my life for Thanksgiving. Mom and Grandma both used to make Brown ‘n Serve rolls for Thanksgiving. As soon as they came out of the oven, Mom (or Grandma) would lightly brush the top of each roll with butter.
This year for Thanksgiving, I bought a pack of Brown ‘n Serve rolls, baked them, and lightly rubbed the top of them with butter. And I took my time eating them. Not because the rolls were especially great or anything. I am by no means a five-star chef.
No… what I savored most about those rolls were the memories.
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