Every November, I test my memory cells by trying to recall where I’ve spent Thanksgiving for the past 30 years. I do okay for the most recent ten, and then things get blurry. I vaguely remember Thanksgivings at Uncle Bill’s and Aunt Alma’s during the 50s and 60s, but I don’t recall any Thanksgivings between the years of 1970 and 1974. This lapse can’t be attributed entirely to over-indulging in turkey, but can be blamed, in part, on a wayward cousin who always provided me with something to stimulate my appetite (though I never inhaled).
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