Or, How Woman Was the First Hunter and Bagged The Sweetest Fruit

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It were a good meal and a nice day of it.

I took a chance and got a smoked turkey from Greenburg’s in Tyler, Texas, which arrived on time as advertised and was so damn smoked it smelled like our house caught fire and then got rained on and we was standing around in the aftermath of it.

Tasted pretty good, though.

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We had my mom and step-dad, my dad and step-mom, my mom’s parents, and my step-mom’s son and his wife and their new baby. A convivial and generally angst-free gathering, very low-key. I enjoyed like hell cooking all day, doing up old-timey collards and roasted sweet potatoes and some cauliflower in a mustard-lemon glaze, stuffing, gravy, rolls, what-not.

My right arm and helpmeet kept it all flowing smooth, appearing magically with just the right word or gaze or bit of food or taking away dishes or washing them.

The dog made herself the center of every conversation and got her ass pet like she likes.

We had the whole crew out by six and the house spanking clean by seven and I was laid out on top of the bedcovers, snoring away by seven fifteen.

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I thought about all of you, and gave thanks for your friendship and your warmth and generosity to me and to this place. You make this place what it is.

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Now for three glorious days off in a row with nothing planned and nothing I have to do and bright, sunny, cold fall weather.

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God-damned-son-of-a-lesbian-bitch I’ve got it good, don’t I?

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Namaste.

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