November, Thanks

Home is where the heart is.

This year we're going to RedBud's mother's house. This event moves around from home to home, depending on whatever the wind blows at us when the appropriate Thursday comes around. All the family--the in laws, outlaws, hangers on--show up with side dishes, mobs form and dissolve, tidal conversations move from room to room, kids eyeing grand-kids, who wander around among the forest of legs; they work the room with aplomb, confidant that they are what it's all about. They aren't far from the truth. Later on extra food disappears into containers, taken home mostly by those with the kids. It's all good, sure a lot better than the La Nga River Valley, 1965, thermite cans a few days late, but the cook from Troop E, 17th Cav, put out his "A" rations buffet for us in an LZ the precise size of the diameter of the main rotor of a Huey, and it was good then too. You can't buy this stuff anywhere.

Good food, people you love to share with it.

Life is good. I hope the rest of you are as lucky as I am.