Home for Thanksgiving

For anyone who doesn't know, this weekend is Canadian Thanksgiving. Our Thanksgiving traditionally involves a big family dinner involving turkey followed by pumpkin pie. So I've traveled to Orillia to spend the weekend with my parents, as have a number of my old friends, notably DevilBoy (as I mentioned a couple posts ago) and The Eggman and family.

The Eggman is the responsible, mature one among us. While DevilBoy and I didn't finish school the first time through, The Eggman did. Consequently he's married with a kid and has a real job, while DevilBoy and I are back in school with kids ten years our juniors. My TV is literally older than some of my classmates. The Eggman's daughter is a new addition to his little family and I look forward to meeting her.

I'd hoped that SouthernKitten would be able to make it up, since, being American, she is not expected to spend Canadian Thanksgiving with her family. I think it'd have been particularly fun for her to spend some time with my old gang. Unfortunately it didn't work out her as father was inconsiderate enough to have a birthday Sunday, so it seems that she actually is going to be spending Canadian Thanksgiving with her family after all.

Someone else who won't be making it for Thanksgiving is my brother, "The Communicator", who, in a move that shocked everyone, quit his very lucrative job at which he spent almost every waking moment, and has taken off to Europe for two months. I'll admit to being jealous, yet incredibly confused by this whole turn of events.

Using the name "The Communicator" for my brother is sort of an ironic joke as, well, he isn't and really doesn't. My favourite example of my brother's knack for communication happened back in high school. He'd won some sort of math award or something. It involved, among other things, having his picture in the local paper. Now, if I were having my picture in the paper, my family would know about it. If I thought there were a slight chance, they'd know to be looking.

I believe the first my mother heard of the picture was when the butcher said "That's a nice picture of your son in today's paper."

To which she responded with a blank look "Which son??"

When this story was recounted at the dinner table that night and The Communicator was asked why he hadn't told anyone about the award or the picture, he answered "You didn't ask."

He landed at Heathrow the other day. I imagine it'll be a great trip.

Anyway, I'm going to keep this entry pretty short as it's late and I really ought to be sleeping by now. I hope you all have a nice Canadian Thanksgiving. (Even those of you who are Americans and insist on celebrating it during the completely wrong month)