My Dinner with Strangers

I credit a yellow Siegel's Ham apron and the Curtis Mayfield radio station with carrying me through Thanksgiving with soul and style.

For the 3rd annual Orphans' Thanksgiving, I volunteered as a server, lugging platters loaded with turkey and gravy, mashed and sweet potatoes, Brussels sprouts and top-on carrots, cranberries and stuffing and so ridiculously heavy it felt like I was carrying a small child atop the platter.

There were the usual odd demands ("I can't eat lettuce, so can I have a spinach salad instead?"), adorable couples (two bottles of Avinyo Pettilant and a celebration of it being no family, just them) and a lecherous man trying to get his drink on as quickly as possible ("I'll have a Leffe Blonde beer and a glass of Cotes du Rhone right away") while throwing sexual innuendo my way (caught it, returned it and moved on).

I had a ball watching as a trio of girlfriends moved through their wining and dining right into a food coma, occasionally joining in their discussions of womanhood circa 2015 and subsequent laughter about almost everything.

Best of all, few people hurried through their turkey day feast. There was lingering, there was non-stop conversation and there was plenty of spirited imbibing. Unlike at Grandma's, no one had to watch their intake lest they say something that might set off a relative's ire, so it felt more like an extended dinner party.

By 7:00, the last few people were finally moving on to whatever it is people do on Thanksgiving night. Me, I finally had my gravy-laden feast accompanied by several wines and a piece of non-traditional chocolate pate pie slathered in fresh whipped cream.

Another Thanksgiving in the rear view mirror of life. Of course I'm thankful for my interesting little life. Do I desire more? Hell, yes.