We packed the girls into the car shortly after nine o'clock last Thursday to head to Tyrone, Pennsylvania for Thanksgiving dinner at my parents' house. It would be us, them, my grandmother (who rocks) and my sister. Her husband is a chef-manager type person at Luck Strike Lanes in Philadelphia, and as it was a big "going out night" in Philly, that bed of wholesomeness, he was constrained to work. My youngest brother Ben and his girlfriend Tia would not be able to make it in from Colorado, as he was still in his training phase with the Larimer [thanks editor!Joy]
County Sheriff's Department. And my other brother, Dust, couldn't make it, because... well, I guess because the fifteen minute drive from his place to my parents' was fraught with danger and/or horrifying supernatural peril or something.
To accommodate my sister's schedule, dinner had been moved back from noon to around two o'clock. Lyndie called from the road to say she had been further delayed, and it looked like three would be more likely. That was fine. No one was in a hurry.
We got there around noon, and it was nice to hang out for a while. Lyndie (and her cool hound Ziggy) showed up a couple of hours later. As we were getting things together for the big meal, there was a knock at the door.
Ben and his girlfriend had surprised us all and flown in from Colorado. Lyndie had picked them up at the airport and dropped them just down the hill from the house. Wow. We were, literally, speechless.
We all had a nice Thanksgiving dinner, even with the table set to cram in two unexpected but very welcome guests. No one embarrassed themselves with strong drink or horribly inappropriate remarks (I'm looking at you sis), and my grandmother refrained from mooning anyone this year.
Next year, we're cooking at our house, and I plan to ruthlessly badmouth anyone who does not show.