Twenty-eight years ago I gave my first (and pretty much only) Thanksgiving. Considering that nine days before I had just given birth to my daughter, it was perhaps not the wisest decision. But pumped up with hormones and the adrenaline of becoming a parent, I persevered and invited my family to join us at our Upper West Side apartment. I wish I could tell you how it was; being chronically sleep-deprived in those days I have very little recollection of the actual event. Since no one came down with food poisoning, I suppose it went off well enough.
Fast forward twenty-eight years. The baby from that first Thanksgiving is now an accomplished interior designer and living in Brooklyn in trendy Williamsburg. With just a little bit of arm-twisting from me (you can hardly see the burns), last week she and her boyfriend threw their first Thanksgiving. Despite the alarming invitation we received–promising a “Thanksgiving Fiasco”–it was a huge success. The food was cooked to perfection and the decor, well, did I mention my daughter is a designer? It was K’s and my first time seeing their new apartment and it was a vision to behold, straight out of the pages of a magazine. The photo above shows the set table before everyone plopped down and devoured the grub.
As we sat long after the last plate had been cleared, sipping wine and chatting, I realized that the torch had been passed–and that I’d never have to throw another Thanksgiving again!
Since this post wasn’t about Pablo (sorry, big guy), here’s a shot of my grandcat Lily, looking very distinguished.