I’ve never been a big fan of holidays. I mean, I’m not one of those annoying people that’s always bitching about how much I hate Christmas, but it’s just not my bag. Luckily for me, my progressively minded mom was on board and for several years the tradition at my house was to order pizza and eat cheesecake for Thanksgiving and Christmas. But this year, since I now have an actual house of my very own, I figured I owed it to myself to try at least once to throw down with a traditional holiday chowfest. And whaddya know? It completely rules. That there is the very first turkey that I have ever made, and it turns out that I have some kind of freakish natural gift for roasting turkey because it was perfect. There’s also a picture of my share of the feast, a mind-numbingly fantastic amalgamation of my friends’ contributions to the buffet: brussel sprouts, bourbon sweet potatoes, orange-hazelnut-cranberry conserve. My Apple Sage Sausage Dressing was teh rock (and I have tons of it leftover to savor). We even had an Unturkey (though Delmy didn’t take to it as well as Caryn. I think I undercooked it). And a few of us washed it all down with some kick-ass mead, which is really, really hard to find when you’re not at the Ren Fair. Maybe it’s just because I was able to surround myself with people that I like instead of people that I’m related to, but Thanksgiving has a whole new glow for me. I’m always glad to learn that I’ve been wrong about how something sucks. I don’t know if I have the fortitude to do it every year, but at least I know I can if I want to.