Whoever said you can't go home again is not from the midwest. We always go home to visit. Maybe just not that frequently – unless of course you are me this year.
On my third trip to the homeland this year I found myself in the company of my family on Thanksgiving for the first time in 8 years and surrounded by snow.
To quote my brother, "It was a Thanksgiving miracle!" Alas, in a way it was.
After years away from my family's table – to return was a transport back to childhood. Partially because all I had to do was sit around and pleasantly socialize with my pleasantly social family and appreciate them.
But another part was the recognition of how fortunate I am to have a home I can return to filled with nothing but loving kindness. I spend a lot of my time bringing friends together and creating a family atmosphere in Seattle and Black Rock City – but it is all in a way something I do to honor the very people who taught me how to gather people together around food for the sake of connection.
My family is not perfect. We lack no skeletons. My childhood memories are not free of conflict and tragedy by any means.
But laughter and love brought those of us who sat around my table of gratitude this Turkey Day of 2012, both new and old, and I feel so lucky to have such a hearth to call home.
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