Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving was a lot of fun. I plucked that sentence from the beginning of an elementary school essay about How I Spent My Vacation (it only took me three tries to spell "elementary" correctly, which proves how far I've come since then). Thanksgiving was a lot of fun and we ate turkey which was good and the cranberries and pie and Uncle Spooky let me drive the truck Mom was angry.

Downstairs, quiet but insistent, my dog reminds me that it's time for his walk. So I'll make this post quick.

Thanksgiving was fun because I saw my family, and they watched Jen and I play Stratego with slowly mounting intensity. We watched 48 Hours, marveled at how young Eddie Murphy looked, and marveled at how tender the turkey was.

The next day we went to Hawk Mountain. We didn't see any hawks, but the view from each of the lookouts was still beautiful. My Dad had difficulty hiking up the rockier parts of the trail, but kept insisting he was fine, although a couple times I thought he was going to fall and break his leg. He didn't, so that was alright, and it proved (if it needed to be re-proven) that Dad is always right—except for that time when he said we didn't need a tent because I could just sleep in the trunk, which didn't work, and was a little dangerous. However I didn't suffocate in that trunk and he didn't die on that mountain—together we have cheated death in the most boring ways possible.