I am not very good at the game some call “Balderdash.” I can’t help it.
My baser instinct to go for the laugh rather than for the strategically realistic fake definition always kick in. I’m glad for that because my definitions can usually take a crowded room down in laugher.
The word was “elasmobranch.”
My definition was: “What you get when you put a tree into a supercollider.”
I love Thanksgiving. I adore it, for many reasons. It happens during my favorite time of the year. It is a reasonably secular holiday. And, best of all, it involves gorging yourself on meat and sides of starch and wine.
As per usual, I was in charge of the green bean casserole, and of picking up the Gonfalon contingent at Dulles. This was an oddly special Thanksgiving because not only did my Dad come down, but my Mom drove over. I think it’s the first time I’ve seen the two of them in a room for a long time. It wasn’t even weird, not attall. Actually, it was nice.
I like the sentiment of Thanksgiving, too: Counting your blessings. It may sound trite, but many of my blessings were sitting down at the dining table with me tonight. I have many other things I’d count asblessings, job, home, people, and other stuff I don’t need to bore you with. It’s been a good day to take it all in and let it drive me a little.
I am full of food. And that is excellent.