Dear Readers,

My son just walked outside to get the morning paper and spied a pair of white tailed deer prancing down the street. In Boothbay or Wiscasset, visits from flocks of turkeys and an occasional encounter with Mr. Bear would not be a big deal, but in Indianapolis, it is a surprise, at least it was to me.

We had driven a bit more than a thousand miles to spend Thanksgiving with our family. While the family was (and is) great, and the meal was overwhelming, the idea of driving that far, through what the weatherman calls “lake effect snow squalls,” is just a bit short of nuts.

And I will not share the details of our detour to the “Bates Motel” after one of our tires found a drywall screw on the dark and cold New York Thruway.

Driving down the streets of the town where we once lived and cruising the stores where we once shopped, just confirmed the reasons we settled in Boothbay.

People were everywhere. And they were pushing and bustling and glaring as they performed the All American shopping ballet known as pre-Black Friday, Black Friday and post-Black Friday.

In the words of Tom Lehrer, the great humorist, “Angels we have heard on high, Tell us to go out and buy.”

On a quest to purchase the items on the list for Thanksgiving dinner, a supermarket checkout clerk smiled as he handed me the change for a $20. “Here is your change, $13.11,” he said, as he handed me $12.11.

When I mentioned the error, a well-dressed woman standing behind me ordered me to move out of the way because she was in a hurry.

Other smiling clerks were pleasant, but were a bit short on information. It is not surprising as the stores are huge, featuring a hundred or so brands of cheese and almost enough liquor and beer to cater an event like the afterparty for the committee of the Harbor Fishermen’s Festival, or the annual Marine Corps Birthday party.

Oh yes, aisles of cookies and crackers and coffees and cans of veggies by the score. Still, we had to visit several of these stores to gather all the items on the shopping list.

Despite all that, the kitchen soon swelled with wonderful smells. At the appointed hour, 13 of us sat down to a bountiful meal prepared by committee. We caught up on events since we were last together and passed on tidbits of this and that. Even after the last bit of cranberry jelly was scooped over the last piece of turkey, no one left the table.

It was a family moment and time seemed to pause for a while.

On this most American of all holidays, we were a family and it was family time.

No one talked of the football games or shopping, or other troubles. We did not discuss Washington politics, the international situation or drones, nor did we compare religions.

Even after the meal, the conversations continued as all pitched in clearing the table, stowing the leftovers in the fridge and washing the dishes, glassware and pots and pans.

Then it was time for pies and goodbyes. Until the next time.

Happy holidays to all.