Their fifth year since college, the group decided to gather again for Thanksgiving. The day prior, Kyle and Rachel opened their doors for Jeanette and George and Christa and Tyler as well as their kids.

“Okay,” Kyle said, when they’d all caught up and settled for a while. “Who wants to be in charge of what?”

Assignments were divvied up and preparations for the following day began. Of course plans are often arbitrary, means simply to ensure everything makes its way to the table, and so one person might be working on the dressing while peeling a potato for another. Or another prepared the vegetable tray and reached over someone else to hand over celery for the dressing.

Many of the preparations could be finished by the evening before Thanksgiving, and this allowed for making pies in the morning, leaving them fresh for eating after a good meal’s nap.

From the wee hours of Thanksgiving morning, the turkey slow-cooked in its juices, the savory smell wafting throughout the cozy home as everyone woke up.

Children helped set the table and adults finished anything that had to be done today, but as eleven inched towards noon, their Thanksgiving dinner was ready.

Preparations complete, they sat down and began to eat.

Dishes moved around the table – George shoveling potatoes onto his plate, Rachel reaching for the dressing, Tyler putting fresh cranberry sauce on a warm roll. Jeanette poured herself some of the cider they’d purchased for this occasion and Kyle poured gravy over almost everything on his plate. Christa’s forte was the vegetable platter.

Similar actions took place at the kids table, as nobody was young enough to need their food chopped up but not old enough to try and parent their siblings or friends. One or two minor tussles may have broken out, but nothing more than a reminder from someone at the grown-up table could stop the kids before a real argument developed.

“You know, it being Thanksgiving,” Tyler said as he dished himself some of the melon-colored fruit salad, “we should go around the table telling what we’re grateful for.”

“Ooh, that’s a good idea,” Jeanette said. “Do you mind if I begin?”

“Go ahead,” Tyler said, passing the fruit salad along to George. He accepted the potatoes from Christa.

“I’m grateful for friends and family, loved ones all around,” Jeanette said. “Not just that, I’m grateful to have them around. Merely knowing they exist is not the same as enjoying their company on occasion.”

She took a bite of dressing covered in warm turkey gravy and savored the taste as much as the moment.

“So true,” Christa said, raising her glass in toast to Jeanette’s remarks. “I’m grateful for good food to share with those friends.”

She smiled and took a sip from her glass.

“Well,” Tyler said, “you’ve taken mine right out from under me.”

He grinned.

“To friends and food and all things good in between. May our days be happy and wholesome.”

Many of the others raised their glasses and toasted as well.

“But as for something other than what’s been said,” Tyler said, “I’m grateful for the full bellies were going to have, the unavoidable naps as we try to read or relax on sofas and chairs and the floor in the other room. For warmth and dryness inside on cold rainy days, and for the general pleasures of reading that enrapture us with the creations of others.”

“Wow,” Kyle said. “Did you steal that from somewhere? Bravo, bravo.”

“You’re just getting started, no?” George grinned and winked. “But alas, I guess the floor is mine.”

“We’re not eating on the floor Uncle George!” a voice at the kids table giggled.

The grown-ups hadn’t noticed the funny silence of their kids listening in on their conversation.

“Who said that?” George said, eyeing the kids table as if he were a little one himself trying to put on a glower.

“I did,” Uncle George,” said Maddy.

George, who knew all along who’d said it, laughed and said, “Of course you did.”

He held his hand up for the kids to see, and they all burst into laughter at the sight of black olives on all of his fingers. George playfully stuck his tongue out, put on a haughty, stuck-up face and pretended to turn all attention away from them.

“Woe is me,” he turned back and said to the kids. “I must tell these old folk something I’m grateful for.”

“Well go on,” Ben, oldest of the kids, prodded.

George grinned again, bit into a sweet pickle, chewed and swallowed and said, “I’m grateful for Someone to thank when I’m feeling grateful, for someone to plea to when I need help, for comfort when I need it and the same for all of you.”

“You mean God?” Rachel asked for clarification.

“Yes,” George said.

“Who or what do you thank if you don’t believe there is a God?” Jeanette asked.

She’d been on a long spree of doubt about God even when they roomed together.

“You thank God of course,” Rachel said.

“I said if you don’t believe in God,” Jeanette reiterated.

“You thank God,” Rachel said. “Maybe you don’t think of God as some All-Powerful, Supreme Being. Maybe you think of Him as simply nature and science at work, and maybe you give nature a female assignment or none at all. Maybe your ‘god’ is the Almighty, Pure and Unadulterated Accident, Coincidence that resulted in our being. God is a name we’ve put on Whoever or whatever created us, so naturally if you want to thank someone or something, you thank God.”

Jeanette did not like the idea of thanking God, but she had to concede Rachel made an excellent point.

“I guess that makes sense,” she said, taking a small bite of potatoes and gravy.

Little Bruce at the small table cried out, aghast. Everyone from the grown-up table looked over and laughed or giggled at his struggle with the juicy drumstick that kept slipping through his fingers. He looked over at them and said, “It won’t let me hold it.”

“Maybe if you wipe your fingers on that napkin,” Theo said, pointing to Little Bruce’s cloth napkin.

“That’s not a napkin,” Little Bruce said, reaching for it. “That’s a small table cloth.”

His comment created more happy laughter and Kyle reassured him the small table cloth was indeed a napkin, one of a special sort only used for holidays and such. Little Bruce wiped his fingers on the napkin and the grown-up table resumed their discussion.

“You know,” Kyle said, “I’m grateful to be alive. I don’t mean that in some sort of ‘boohoo my life is terrible but I’m trying to be positive’ sort of way. I mean to be alive, to soar and be free. To go out and reach for the stars and get them, to achieve or die doing so. To be truly alive, that’s what I mean.”

“That’s a good one,” Christa said.

“Thank you,” Kyle said.

“I’m grateful for the happy moments,” Rachel said. “I know, any moment can be a blessing from God, good or bad. But I’m grateful for the happy moments, the ones that make life worth living. Get rid of those, and it’s all a bunch of misery. Maybe I couldn’t appreciate them if there weren’t bad ones as well, but I’d never be happy without good times.”

“Hear, hear!” said Macy from the kids table. She stood up with her cup in her hand.

Rachel turned, looked and smiled. “And for our children, they make us work but they bring such joy.”

“Amen to that,” said Kyle.

The others chuckled.

Their talking continued, the eating went on, and stomachs grew full while friendships grew strong.

Dinners may come and dinners may go, and time may wax and time may wane, but those moments together are what matter forever.