I tend not to be philosophical about holidays, trying to imbue them with solemn meaning. Maybe that's a mistake. Holidays were always about having to go to grandma's house or both grandma's houses and seeing cousins and eating on the stairs with my plate on my knees because the house itself was beyond legal fire-safety capacity and all possible chairs in the kitchen, dining room and the sofa and chairs in the living room were all taken up by adults.
Yet for my adult life I've been a bit far away from that, So. Cal or the Philippines or Florida. Now my siblings and myself live in four different states... New Mexico, California, Michigan and North Dakota. (Michigan and North Dakota made it home for today.) I value incredibly the times any of them of managed to visit me for holidays.
I've got a turkey in the oven and will make stuffing and a sweet potato.
I'll put a table cloth on the table and make everyone come and sit down... but not on the stairs with their plate on their lap, because we've got plenty of chairs for everyone.
Which is rather depressing really. I'd probably do better if I were philosophical and reflected on what I've got to be thankful for which is so very *very* much. And I am thankful. And if I keep typing I'll make myself depressed and I'm NOT depressed. Or even particularly whining.
But still, anyone complaining because they *have to* go to Grandmas?