This weekend is Thanksgiving for  us Canadians. It doesn’t mean much to me. I mean, in Canada we didn’t have Pilgrims and native people chasing wild turkeys around and having a grand feast. We’re just supposed to, well…give thanks. I give thanks all the time and don’t see why I have to cook a turkey to prove it.

I understand American Thanksgiving. It is the beginning of the holiday season. Our holiday season should not begin with Hallowe’en.

This year most of the family is away and we are cooking this monstrous turkey that has sat in our freezer for a year. Stuffing and all the fixings for four people. I don’t want to do it, but my spouse feels strongly about at least eating some turkey so I will do it.

The last time we did a small Thanksgiving, we invited my spouse’s ex-husband (we like to make sure he spends holidays with his kids and there is no animosity between us), and her two kids, Kelly and Ben who are young adults.

Well, after dinner – conversation time in my mind – Ben put on a football game, and Kelly fell asleep. We were left with Bill, who is not only boring, but got himself drunk on red wine. So we listened to Bill for two hours, repeating himself over and over not even wanting to get into the conversation it was so dull. I said never again.

Well, obviously my oath was broken. At least Bill will not be there to drink all our red wine, and Kelly will have her very nice boyfriend, who might encourage her to stay awake. But still, the turkey is enormous and Kathy and I will be eating the damned thing probably well past it’s due date. I am searching for turkey recipes already.