I have a lot of memories of Thanksgivings. For me, it's been a holiday mostly about family--more so in later years when my family was my mother and I. It became as important as Christmas, and whether I was a couple thousand miles or a four-hour drive away, I'd do my best to get home.

My mother usually had to chase me out of the kitchen while she was cooking, because I'd nibble quite a bit of the pre-cooked stuffing: bread cubes, celery, onion, herbs and cooked sausage.

I actually remember stuffing myself to the gills, then eating more. What was left of the turkey sat on the table while we (including guests) talked and picked at it. I quit doing that when I realized it wasn't really a comfortable thing to do. Stop when not quite full, THEN pick at the carcass.

I remember the colors of Thanksgiving, which are mostly the colors of autumn leaves, the browns of the tail on the turkey candles that never got lit, the brown turkey skin and gravy, green beans, dark orange pumpkin pie, and glistening garnet cranberry sauce.

My father died when I was 17, and Thanksgiving was never the same. My mother died 20 years ago, and that was the end of my family. I mostly remember not the food, but how it felt to be with my family. Now, I spend the day with family of a different sort. The smells, tastes, colors, and warm glow of belonging can bring back that Thanksgiving mood.

And now, it's after 7 PM and I've written myself into ravening hunger...