Ahhh, finally, we've come out the other end of that long gizzard and we're back onto what passes for a normal schedule around here.

We spent the entire holiday weekend at home, doing some minor yard work and trying to put a dent in the turkey leftovers while having our blood pressure cycled up and down every few hours by the latest news out of Florida.  Remind me never to go there.  And I'm beginning to think the Mexicans were smart by getting rid of Texas, too.

We did an odd thing on Thanksgiving Day.  We dressed up.  For the whole day.  I don't mean fancy.  I mean as pilgrims.  Well, Viv and Amy dressed up, anyway.  I didn't because a: I don't have a pilgrim costume, and 2: I have no sense of affiliation with the boatloads of white folks who stopped (yeah, right) at New England.  My people are swimmers from the south, and a preponderance of the blood evidence might dictate my costume to be a loincloth and face paint.  Had I dressed accordingly... well, let's just say that on Thanksgiving an appetite is not something one wants to lose.  I participated by donning what amounts to a Missouri compromise -- a pair of overalls.  Maybe not precisely on period, but certainly agricultural.

The dressing up was inspired less by whimsy than by the fact that Amy had dressed as a pilgrim for the school party the day before and felt like carrying the theme on into Thursday.  It's not as if we're that goofy family in the neighborhood that goes a little overboard with its holidays.  I mean, we drive Acuras.  We're not the Corvair People.  Honest.

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