So we’re doing Thanksgiving at our house this year.  First time ever.  I mean, we’ve done Thanksgiving breakfast for friends that are like family to us before heading to the whole turkey gorging tour.  We like to make fancy coffee and have bagels with cream cheese and lox.  Mmm.

But we’ve never hosted the actual shindig.  And there’s no oven at my house.  Well, there is an oven, but it’s wrapped in plastic in the dining room.  I don’t think that really counts.  But there is a grill.  And my hubby is the master of applying fire to meat and creating food.  Maybe we could roll the turkey and stuffing into a new bacon explosion Thanksgiving edition.  Hmm.

Life has shown us that often the connections that you can’t chart out on a tree are the most important.  The families we were born into are certainly important and loved.  And many of them are counted among our friends as well.  But it’s the friends that have seen us through the hardest of times.  They are the ones that have been there and stayed on our side.  They’ve got nothing to gain and no familial loyalty to consider.  These people are special and loved.  Some are too far away to be able to join us on Thursday, but they are close to our hearts.

So this year, the Thanksgiving dinner is for the family that may or may not be actually related.  But loved just the same.