"You hear a lot of dialogue on the death of the American family. Families aren't dying. They're merging into big conglomerates." Erma Bombeck
I suppose that today was a fairly unremarkable twenty-first century Thanksgiving day. I awoke at 6am, so that I would not miss my ride to the airport and worried needlessly, as it turned out, about what not to pack and what might be confiscated by the highly trained, eagle-eyed and well remunerated screeners at LaGuadia International. As it so happened, I could easily have dragged a dead water buffalo carcass past their catatonic gazes, without any eyebrows being raised - my liquids, metals and forgotten lighter rode comfortably in the overhead compartment all the way to Raleigh where, upon arrival, I learned that our nation's alert status had been raised to an ominous "orange" - 'atta boy lads! But I get ahead of myself...
The car arrived in front of my apartment, piloted by a Russian gentleman who was three days older than God, and who proceeded to drive the BQE at 25 MPH all the way to the airport in the left lane, while fumbling with a bad Nextel connection. I sometimes wonder if there is a relationship between the speed people comfortably drive and the proximity of their countries of origin to the equator. Still, I made it in plenty of time and was at the gate by 8:45 for an 11:00 flight. Of course due to the weather and the carry over of the travel craziness from the day before, the flight did not actually leave until almost 1pm. You all would have been proud - our hero did not get aggravated, anxious, irritated, irate or arrested. I got bored - this is a good thing these days.
The actual flight was unremarkable as well, though I will say that I flew on the smallest jet propelled aircraft I have ever been shoe-horned into. I am not a large person, perhaps six foot-one in boots, however, I kept banging my head off the roof of the cabin each time I stood or crab walked sideways back to the restroom. The flight was mercifully short and I arrived at Raleigh Durham International without injury or incident.
The Thanksgiving feast took place at Warren's new home, for which the word "spacious" is a woefully inadequate descriptor. All eight of the Miller/Danziger Clan founding members were present, with spouses (those of us who have them in good standing) and munchkins (pictured above). Jeff, Jody, Brett and Kara Goldblatt came from Dallas and Leslie Miller's brother Jay joined us as well. The only absences were our two favorite munchkins, Zach and Miranda, who were there in spirit and were sorely missed (we set out their pictures on the table as we ate, for all to admire). The food was plentiful, varied and consumed with gusto.
After dinner we took an hour or so to play with the kids, exchange holiday gifts, watch Dallas beat up on Tampa Bay and digest, then dove into a half dozen or so pies of the pumpkin and apple variety and Grandma Fredi's famous rugelah. I am suffering from a food induced comatose condition as I write and must soon retire for some well earned and much needed repose. I wish all a very happy holiday and may God bless you and yours. Peace.
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