How do you say "Happy Thanksgiving" in Italian?

When our family gets togther for Thanksgiving, it is a huge event. There are usually no less than 30 people, and enough food to feed a small army. It has always been one of my favorite holidays (coming in a close second behind Halloween.) Luckily, I married a man who also loves Thanksgiving. So, no matter where we are, we do Thanksgiving up right. This year will be no different. The turkey has been bought, and my countertops are filled with the fixins for a feast. I've had to re-vamp some of my menu, as some things are impossible to find over here. Family in the States have shipped the Copes Corn (Thanksgiving wouldn't be complete without it), but the orange sherbet for my Grammy's orange salad recipe is impossible to find, and impossible to ship. So...no glop.

From growing up in our family, Thanksgiving dinner is not a meal meant to enjoy in small groups. With that in mind, we have invited some of my husband's soldier-friends, and also an Italian family who own a restaurant that we frequently visit. The family sort of adopted my husband while I was home this summer with our boys. Without them, my husband may have starved. I'm very excited to have them come, as this will be their first Thanksgiving dinner. But last night, I had a bit of an anxiety attack as I considered the fact that I was preparing a meal for a chef. Not just a meal...but an unfamiliar one. Do Italians do mashed potatoes? I'm kind of thinking it's not a bad thing that orange sherbet doesn't exist here, because what would they think of the neon orange salad that our family devours? Then again, while dining there last night, the chef brought out to us a plate that had a variety of sliced fresh vegetables, and a small dish with a dipping sauce. He explained that it was pureed sardines and fresh garlic. I'm not saying it was bad, but I don't see myself every throwing sardines into a blender.

So, I have three days to prepare myself. I can do this. I'm just going to channel some of my aunt's energy and cooking wisdom. With a little luck, our Italian friends won't leave wondering why we Americans get so jazzed up over the fourth Thursday in November.

Ciao' for now!

He said what!?!?

I've really been into creating pottery. The Art Center on base has a fabulous studio and kiln. It's turned into my escape. I could sit for hours and sculpt and paint (I can't actually do this often because I'm usually not afforded the time, but after this week's flooding and extra days off of school and home with the boys, hubby booted me out of the house to catch a breather.)

I found out on one rainy day that my boys also enjoy going and "playing with clay." I'm fine with it, because they can be creative and messy all at the same time and I don't have to clean up clay all over my house.

In the beginning, I was a little concerned about my older son's work. It all had a sort of phalic appearance. He said they were cannons, but I think he was working out some Freudian issue. However, he is extremely adamant that they are not penises, so if you see any of his artwork when visiting Grandma's house, please don't say anything. And Grandma, he will expect to see his artwork proudly displayed when he comes to visit...and don't think of breaking it, cause he'll make another one....BIGGER and better.

And then there is my younger son. He also enjoyed sculpting. More than sculpting, he enjoyed socializing with the two young ladies who were there hand throwing on the wheel. He quickly made friends with them, and shared his mosquito pool that he was working on. (No, I didn't realize mosquitos enjoy swimming, either). When I bumped into the ladies today, sans children, the one told me that my younger son said something that totally cracked her up. This cannot be good, I thought. As he was getting off one of the stools in the workroom, he groaned as he was sliding down. She asked him if he was ok. To which he responded, "I squished my tenders." Then, just to clarify in case she was not aware of what "tenders" were, he matter-of-factly added, "Those are my balls."

Who knew the pottery room could be such a wonderful place for entertainment? I'm going back tomorrow!