Thanksgiving day

There is a certain order every year. Sometimes pies are made the night before. In the morning: sausage rolls, which are breakfast sausages wrapped in pastry, and we snack on them while we're cooking. Also, Mom boiled eggs and made toast with an incredible amount of butter. I asked Dad if sausage rolls are a British thing.

"Not that I know of," he said.

"It's kind of like a mini-pork pie," Mom said.

"See, the sausage rolls in England are different," Dad said, and left the room.

I helped with sausage rolls, and I made the pumpkin pie middle. I watched Mom roll pastry. I washed green onions for the stuffing, held things, scooped things, folded napkins.

Mostly I played with my nieces. I liked going up and down the sidewalk with M in her umbrella stroller and made a song.

In her stroller,
she likes to roll over
the plants and cracks,
the plants and cracks!

I liked when J had me and Erik in the little playhouse and kept reassigning our roles. "Okay, you be the momma, and you be the daddy, and I'll be the sister." She curled up on our laps when she was the kitty. She pretended to be the ice cream man and took my order over and over again. A chocolate popsicle cost 1, while a Big Stick cost 80.

Mom made bread in the morning, and I watched her kneading it on the counter. It was getting so hot in the kitchen, but she didn't want to open the door so the rolls wouldn't fall.

I enjoyed the roasted potatoes more than ever, this year, which I broke open and salted on the inside--so crisp and flavorful on the outside, creamy within. The stuffing was very good, though Mom said it was not cooked long enough, and the celery didn't bother me. I liked the Brusseles sprouts, olives. The Yorkshire pudding wasn't as oily as I like, but I appreciated everything. I rocked myself on the porch swing and felt the wind.