Oh Thanksgiving.

I love my family.

Most holidays are spent with my dad's side of the family who all live in our immediate vicinity. My poor mother's family is scattered across the country, from Orange County to the mountains of North Carolina. So, we troop over to my cousins' house for a dinner my aunt painstakingly prepares by herself. She will not accept help. Ever. My mom and I are both fair cooks. I make a darn good pie. She will flat-out refuse assistance and buy a pie from the store instead. We are more bewildered than offended. If she really wants to cook a feast single-handedly that's fine. We are moderately impressed with her skill, though more mystified by her stubborn independence.

This year, we were met at the door of my doctor uncle's fancy-pants house with the German Shepherd growling as if he were longing to tear our faces off. My uncle then firmly and wearily exclaimed, "Shut up, you stupid dog. Nobody likes you. Why are you even here?" He was not consulted before the purchase of the beast. After a couple minutes he greeted us - my mom, brother, aunt, and I. They try to offer us all booze - My mom doesn't drink, my brother is a mere 18, and I usually prefer to have all my wits about me on such occasions. The cousins turn out to be newly pregnant, so that actually gives us a topic of conversation! Yay! Unfortunately, this did not last long, as my darling cousin soon launched into a detailed lecture about the railroad (he is an engineer), closely followed by gun rights, closely followed by highly offensive subjects that made me cringe and that will not be repeated here. Needless to say, my conversation skills were challenged.

Saying grace has been an awkward moment since my grandfather died a year and-a-half ago. He was the spiritual and moral leader of our family, and a man I loved and respected immensely. His prayers before meals were always heartfelt, simple, and lovely. Since his death, his eldest son has been praying. Half of my family is Catholic, the other half Protestant. So, half the family crosses themselves, my uncle prays, "Heavenly Father, thank you for this chance to get together for this holiday. Thank you for providing the food. Thank you for the hands that prepared it. Amen. Shut up, you stupid dog!" And the room echoes with uncertain Amens.

Then we eat, and it is good. My little cousin talks about his girlfriend, my aunt giggles with me across the table, my new cousin-in-law asks sweet questions and generally holds her own with my opinionated family, and it is good. The same cousin who believes "every red-blooded American male should own a gun and use it" also visits a former coworker who is ill and bedridden and slowly losing his wife to cancer to boot. The same uncle who despises the dog sets a marvelous example in treating other people well. My aunt who refuses our cooking engages me in conversation in which she shows that she has been paying attention to the details in my life. And I am thoroughly chastised for my quick judgments.