Love You Like a Milkshake!

The first snow of the year came on Wednesday. In such a dramatic fashion that it must count for the second and third snows of the year too. It was one of those obese snows, that cover and cake the whole area code. Once skeletal trees and bushes were larded up with so much snow it seemed to be their proper foliage. A winter flush.

In the morning light, the whole world was a Cool-Whip commercial. I went running in a suddenly alien environment. That to me is one of the thrills of a good snow. The inert death of late fall is replaced by an entirely new, at once more dignified and more fanciful world. Running through the woods, the syncopation of black branches and white everything else, beat a staccato rhythm. Inspired views from my left, to my right, and straight ahead.

"I hate the snow." says Priya. "Brown is beautiful." To each, their own.

So it was a white Thanksgiving. Well, with jello-marshmallow salad and toxic amounts of TV, every Thanksgiving is a white Thanksgiving at our house. For me at least, the apathy and sluggishness I feel after the dinner is less a result of the Tryptophan than from prolonged exposure to football on the tiv. But if that's what it takes to get my Brother, Dad, Mom and myself in the same room at the same time, heck, I'll take one for the team.

It was my Brother's birthday as well. He was born on Thanxgiving too. Growing up, this was always the scary time of year for me. With his birthday in late November and mine in January, there was always a period where for a little more than a month, we appeared to be one year apart. Instead of him being six and I being eight, for the interregnum he would be seven, but I would still be eight. During these forty-five days I lived in a state of paranoia--what if he caught up with me one year? What if he overtook me? It would all be over.

After dinner, I caught up with my Bestus: Melanie, back in town from Boston. A one sentence profile: Once in high school we drove past Old Country Buffet; "Mmm! Let's eat out at Ole Cunty!" she said. I haven't been there since, which earns her sincere gratitude.

This was the same cat who worked on the Kerry-Edwards campaign in Broward County, Fla. She schlepped for Jewish-outreach as a matter of fact. The girl's got Shiksappeal.

Standing in her foyer, she presented me with kitschy tchotchkes, that were ironic, she said, only because Kerry didn't win. She bore gifts of K-E buttons in Hebrew, as well as a K-E t-shirt, also in Hewbrew, and a snappy little box for pills, with compartments for each day of the week's dose, and again, emblazoned with the K-E logo. This is a gift I must use. I must get an addiction.

Funny thing about the shirt--it was a smallish girl's shirt. Funny because when I stopped off at the state Democratic party HQ back in early October, the lady saw fit to give me a "Women for Kerry!" button. And at the Rally in late October, I was given--on separate occasions--a placard that said "It's up to the women! Vote Kerry!" and a bumper sticker that said the same. "Maybe they know something, Grant" said Drew.

We went to Denny's, the only place open Thanksgiving eve. Open and actually filled with people, apparently alienated from their families and estranged from their will to live. I needed caffiene to counter act the effects of the giant meal hours earlier. I bought Melanie a malt, which she only consented to after I said "ILoveyoulikeamilkshake!!"

We then took a long night's drive. Since I had a captive audience, I inflicted my taste in music upon her. With sleeping towns and pastures rolling past us, we had one of those conversations where every Noun should be capitalized. You have to be careful who you have those with. Though the moon was partially covered, the new snowfall made the fields glow, as if lit from beneath. These things seem to happen when she is around.