Ah Thanksgiving, the funnest, yearly ritual sacrifice ever conceived. Thanksgiving means my yearly trip to Miller’s Crossing Bar in Cranston, RI. Miller’s on the Wednesday before Thanksgiving is basically a timewarp back to high school. There are some people I only see at Miller’s on this night. We’ve all moved away, but Miller’s calls to the Native Sons of Cranston ( West ). Though I hear Billy’s Frosted Mug has a similar gathering for our cross city cousins of the East. At any rate, the Wednesday ritual was good. A certain degree of awkwardness aside, it was good to see everyone.
On nicer days, I would go to the yearly football game between the 2 high schools, East vs West, the Cranston Cup, fought for bragging rights for 1 year. This year my mighty Cranston West Falcons fell 21-14. I think the overall record for the series is West 19, East, 18, I could be off, it is close though. This year’s weather proved amazing. But alas, blood is thicker than Gatorade, and I skipped out on the game and drove 3 hours north, to my sister’s house.
It was a pleasant drive, though the weather got progressively worse as I drove through Massachusetts and the temperature was 20 degrees cooler than when I left Cranston. It was a simple dinner, turkey, potatoes, bread, canned cranberry sauce, the typical bounty. I napped, I snacked, I napped again. ( Dormito, mangiato, dormito ? )
Next stop, Christmas.
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