The Bowl Master

Thanksgiving is a big deal in my family. We all crash my aunt and uncle's place in Parry Sound. If you've never had a twenty-person sleepover, you're missing out. Big time.

I was playing Scrabble this morning. Probably the first word game played before noon in the history of our family. Six of us played. In teams. From the living room, music started playing. Piano. Guitar. Voices chimed in. Suddenly, my family was belting out Elton John's "Your Song." Everyone should sing while pondering a triple word score.

There was a toy gun at the board-game table. This has yet to be explained. I'd also like to know why the game Clue has so many bludgeoning weapons and no cyanide.

This was the first year for "Things in a Box." We used a bowl instead of a box, and dubbed the reader the "bowl master." It was a cousins-only game, with a 17-year range between the oldest and youngest. And the reader had to create the category. The results? The usual hilarity. See below.

If you become the most famous person EVER, it will be because:

• I ate a Jonas Brother.
• I'm a brail rapper.
• I own the world's largest bee farm.
• of science.

We also dubbed night "the dark time," asserted that "tuck yourself in" is an insult, and marvelled at how quickly time passes. I had no clue I was almost 30. But apparently I am. And will most likely remain single until then if I keep mentioning trailer parks to the eligible bachelors I meet under awkward circumstances. (More on that later.)

I'm thankful. For family and laughter and advice from the young. For support systems and black coffee and bunk beds. For pumpkin pies and pianos and hoodies. For godly wisdom and hugs and overlapping conversations. For joining fake bands. For plotting sleigh rides. For calling each cousin a favourite. For not wanting to say goodbye.

I am full. I am content. I am exhausted. I am thankful.

And I am too old to play midnight soccer.