Dear Family,

Once again I am trying to use this confounded computer to send an email, and apologizing right off the bat for not really knowing if I’m doing this right or not. This is the first one I’ve sent to anyone since the one I sent y’all last year.

Thanksgiving is here again. As everyone should know this is my favorite holiday because it involves eating and napping and then eating again, so once again to make sure I can eat and nap in peace I am writing to set some guidelines before y’all start heading this way.

I don’t have to tell anybody that I’ve missed a lot of you. Not all of you. Regardless, it has been way too long since we’ve been together. We all know that last year was just a mess. The last big group memory I have is Bill setting the back deck on fire with his “I’ll fry the turkey” stunt.

I’m not going to ask who is vaccinated and who is not. What you do with your body is your business. But I am setting the folding tables up on the porch (like I always do) and request that anyone sneezing/coughing/wheezing/with any other body expulsions please sit there. If you’ve been sick, stay home. This isn’t complicated.  

If anyone brings up politics and starts another argument this year, I may have to kill some of you and hide the bodies in the backyard. Ed, you must love Trump more than your wife. Ellen, you must love Biden more than your husband (my wording there is intentional). The fact of the matter is the rest of us aren’t very fond of either one of them. So if you feel like going after each other again in another endless circle of stupidity argument like last year, I would consider it a personal favor if you just stay home, too. Choose weapons and duel before you get here for all I care, but just remember — I brought both of you into this world, and I don’t have a problem taking either and/or both of you out of it. You have been warned. 

Girls, let me say this loud and clear — yoga pants will not be allowed in my house this year. Some of you looked like you were poured into those things last year and those who decided to wear flesh-toned ones had me seriously worried that you had forgotten to put pants on at all. It gets really awkward when I have to stare to figure out just how much of what I am seeing is you and how much is fabric. Wear jeans or regular pants. Please.

And boys, every one of you who spent more time staring at the girls trying to figure out what was skin and what was fabric than you did visiting with the rest of us, if I see you zone in again this year I will be carrying the big wooden spoon most of you already know intimately too well and will pop you on the head to break the spell if necessary. 

Sue, I will again use bacon grease in my cooking. I use bacon grease I collect through the year in almost everything I cook that is not called “pie.” I used it in most everything you ate while you were a child and you had no problem with it. It is used for flavor. It is beyond my comprehension how anyone would willingly choose to not eat bacon flavored anything. While I appreciate that you are trying to be a vegetarian, salad is not a menu option on any Thanksgiving table I’ve ever seen, and it will not be on mine either. 

We will eat dinner at 2 p.m. Not 2:30. Show up late there may or may not be food left for you. Don’t show up at all there may or may not be a Christmas present for you. No phones allowed during meal time. If I see one I will take it, put it in my underwear drawer, and give it back when I am good and ready. As usual, at the conclusion of dinner the wi-fi password will be changed and I will share it with every kid that helps clean up. Menu wise, we’ll have turkey, dressing, green bean casserole, sweet potato souffle, yeast rolls, sweet tea, and sweet potato pie, and plenty of each.

Let me say this slowly so y’all understand: unless I ask you to bring something, do not bring something. That means anything. Nothing. That means you too, Jill. Just because Jell-O is the only thing that wiggles more than you does not mean it belongs on a Thanksgiving table.

As usual, we’ll use nice paper plates and solo cups with your names written on them. That is your cup for the day. Don’t lose it. The poo-pourri is in the bathroom for a reason. Use it (OK Bill?).

As always, your father’s (God rest his soul) favorite beverages will be in the back fridge. Any adult planning on having too much of it and/or has too much of it needs to plan to also spend the night, because I will hide your keys (won’t I, Bill?).

I mean everything you just read. Bring an appetite, and I will see all of you Thursday.

Grandma

PS — I love each and every one of you. We have much to be thankful for.