We feel robbed by God, even if we don't admit it. I understand as well as anyone else that this cycle is part of a greater plan, but my family is starting to feel small. This week, four Cornish game hens could be more appropriate than a turkey, but we have imported new kinship to our newly pared Norman Rockwell tableau. My family does not require any sort of apology or even an explanation, but friends are indeed critical to our well-being. Friends can have families that will adopt us.
Friends can make water as thick as blood.
Friends can receive gifts and give hope. I'm not really sure who is coming to dinner Thursday. Katie, my little sister, may invite somebody. We'll muster up enough camaraderie to use all the good china. And we'll eat until it's dark, when our friendly company will leave, and the nuclear four will be alone again - grappling with a fear of continuing the tradition of watching 1982's Thanksgiving Day on tape.