Today is in the low 40’s. There was a crispness in the air when I let the dogs out to the yard. Last night got cold. The sun and the clouds are sharing the sky for now, but rain is predicted for tomorrow so the sun will disappear behind the grey clouds. There is a wind advisory, but nothing is moving.

I officially recognized the change in seasons yesterday. I packed summer away and brought out my fall and winter clothes. I seem to be heavily into flannel.

My father was always a football fan. He and my grandfather used to go to the Thanksgiving Day football game in town although none of us ever attended the local high school, including my parents. It was tradition.

We stayed home on Thanksgiving. My father watched football. My mother worked in the kitchen. Dinner was usually around two. Our kitchen, when I was young, was small. The six of us couldn’t all fit around the table at the same time. I think that was when my mother first started standing and eating at the counter.

When we had a house of our own, we always ate in the dining room. The table was festive. We all could fit around the table.

Thanksgiving dinner seldom varied from year to year. We knew we’d eat turkey, stuffing, canned cranberry sauce, mashed potatoes, gravy, peas and maybe corn, kernel corn. My father got asparagus, from the can. It always looked wilted and bent over in the middle. He always ate the turkey leg. I can still see him in the mind’s eye munching on that leg.

After dinner my father would take his piece of pie into the living room where he could watch the football game. He was a loud fan. He’d yell at the TV and complain about a play or a misplay. He was a Giants fan.

I always loved supper on Thanksgiving night. My mother made open turkey sandwiches awash with gravy. I’d add stuffing and cranberry sauce to my plate. That would be our first of many meals of leftover Thanksgiving dinner.