This year I am making thanksgiving dinner with my family. As my mother whips out the ingredients and my cousin drugs out the pots, I begin to tell them what I plan on cooking. For dinner, there will be mounds of mashed potatoes with even bigger mounds of butter on top. There will be pernil with skin caramelized with seasonings. A rotisserie chicken about a foot thick and a foot wide. Mustard greens will be boiled in a pot along with peppers and ham. Oh the sweet smell of candy yams will envelope the kitchen. Pumpkin pie with be cooling down in the fridge as the peach cobbler will too. As thanksgiving dinner is complete, the family will gather around the table, say our grace, an begin to dig in the food we have prepared.
If only I was to actually create thanksgiving dinner, it would be really fantastic. Instead our dinner had much different foods and I wasn't apart of the cooking team. Even though my imaginary thanksgiving did not come true, I am not disappointed of the dinner that was made. For I am grateful that I even had food. I am grateful for every part of our thanksgiving. Hence, the meaning of thanksgiving day.
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