Double Turkey

When I gave Puck a kiss during breakfast – always a hugely welcomed gesture from my son – he rubbed his temples.

“It’s sort of a strange thing that they call it temples,” he said, feeling around the bony area. “I guess because the things that protect you, the bones, are like the pillars.”

Thanksgiving is always three-pronged, that large fork of a utensil ready to spear turkey in at least two locations in the city. The first visit, of course, is the church’s annual Thanksgiving service.

Secondly is the Silverspoon’s where Gloria pulls out a spread worthy of any Texan dining room table, with no less than three different types of sweet potatoes and two different turkeys. While last-minute preparations were being made, Gloria brought out her kitchen mandolin and a few onions.

“Hey, Puck! Want to see the onion get sliced?”

Puck’s eyes grew huge and he sprang up off the couch. “WHAT?!” Pause for relief. “Oh … I thought you meant Onion.”

I guess we should start referring to Rose with her real name more often for his sake.

After a filling lunch with Theodore, Gloria, Izzy, and the pastor and his wife, Puck and Izzy retreated to Izzy’s old room to create a Lego trebuchet on the carpet.

At three o’clock, the Combs home was hopping with a crowd of people in Florissant. I immediately noticed the glass bowls of M&Ms spread around the house.

“I thought of you when I got those,” Lucia told me. “All different kinds of M&Ms.”

My chocolate reputation precedes itself in a variety of places.

After dinner, the usual lounging commenced around the living room, occasionally interrupted by the group text involving Joe in Nebraska. By this time, Grandma was literally boogie-ing it down in the kitchen to music on someone’s laptop.

By the end of the evening, the television had accidentally been switched to perpetual silent aerial landscapes from Italy and coral reefs around the world.

El Oso and I ended a quiet evening with a Redbox selection, a well-done period piece: “Belle”.