The ol’ Thanksgiving Wrap-up
Now, as the dozens of readers of this fine “blog” know, every year for American Thanksgiving, we pack up the car (put clothes and wine in luggage) and drive (fly early on Thanksgiving morning) to grandma’s house (our friend Kristy & Matt’s place in Los Angeles). We’ve been doing this for a while now.
According to the internet search-engine I use (Hot-Bot) we started this tradition four scores ago (if four scores equals six years) in the heady days of 2006 – pre-iPhone if you can believe it. How we found our way to their house I’ll never know.
Achoo
Well. I don’t have a lot of photos to show because of two things:
1. I brought my fancy little camera, but I forgot to charge it
2. I had a bit of a cold and just wasn’t in to do anything other than eating and then sleeping
Awwww. Baby had a cold. I did.
But, like in past years, it was a dinner that couldn’t be beat. Big ass turkey. Big ass pork shoulder wrapped in bacon. Stuffing. Stuffing. Stuffing. Sweet potatoes au gratin. Wine. Champagne.
It was a grand time.
House Rental
Our pals Kristy & Matt made the unusual step of producing off-spring (it must be a California thing) and with other family visiting, the house was pretty tight so we rented a little house up the street. It was like 5 houses away – 58 seconds of walking according to Google.
What a fine little house. Two bedrooms and one bath. Huge living room. The front of the house had a view of downtown LA and the back had a view of the Hollywood sign. Additionally, there was a converted garage in the back with a big bed (where our pal Mark slept) that was the ‘artists studio’ – hence we referred to Mark as “the artist” the whole time.
“Is the artist awake yet?”
I also had a cold. Achoo.
Let’s see, what else? We saw the James Bond Skyfall movie (I liked it) and had some nice Peking Duck (I also liked it). We ate at Café Tropical as usual.
On “Black Friday” we of course celebrated “Bloody Friday” which consists of Bloody Marys and James Bond flicks. We watched Thunderball (whenever they said “Thunderball”, you drink) and the horrid View to a Kill (drink whenever they say “Zorrin” or Roger Moore creepily kisses a woman). I stayed with rum.
Oh, but we loved out little house.
