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The elegantly set tables, with the empty chairs waiting to be filled, the food ready to be served, remain in my memory whenever Thanksgiving nears.
One of my earliest memories is of a trip our family made to visit Mom’s relatives “on the farm,” as we called it. The trip was about 90 minutes, but to the four of us with little wiggle room in the back seat of the car, it might as well have been 90 hours. To pass the time, we engaged in the spur-of-the-moment sport of elbow jabbing. (Another brother, the baby of the family, slept up front on Mom’s lap.)
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