“And so, Thanksgiving. It’s the most amazing holiday. Just think about it—it’s a miracle that once a year so many millions of Americans sit down to exactly the same meal as one another, exactly the same meal they grew up eating, and exactly the same meal they ate a year earlier. The turkey. The sweet potatoes. The stuffing. The pumpkin pie. Is there anything else we all can agree so vehemently about? I don’t think so.
This meal, with its glorious standards, is the thing that reassures us that we’re home (even if we’re not), that we’re a family (even if we don’t meet the standard definition), and that we’re Americans (even if we’re despondent over the mid-terms).”
— Nora Ephron
The year was 1998. My husband and I had been married for a year and we had just bought our first home together: a newly constructed duplex townhouse with colonial blue siding, a white picket fence, and a charming front porch, which stood out in great contrast to the other homes on the street, most of which were built in the 1800s. …