On Thanksgiving Day, Alan had to work a bit and my brother was at his in-laws, so we did our family Thanksgiving yesterday. I am still bloated from eating far too much of my mother's wonderful cooking. You can see her pretty table and delectable treats here. Not shown are her pecan pie and a triple-chocolate dessert. Alan loves her pecan pie; he ate 3 or 4 slices yesterday and took some home.

We took Mister Fusspot with us, and he was very well behaved. So much good food, some wine, some football - it was a perfectly lovely day. Sprocket didn't mind staying at home; he was glad to have a little break. Now that Mister Fusspot is no longer afraid of him, Sprocket gets attacked by a frolicking Chihuahua every few seconds. The same thing happens to Finnovar, mostly his tail, and we don't think Mister Fusspot has realized yet that Finn isn't playing a game with him. No injuries, though, so it's all good.

We have traditional Southern vegetables with our Thanksgiving dinner, more so than traditional Thanksgiving things. I don't think anyone in my family likes pumpkin or sweet potatoes, so we have other vegetables instead: green bean casserole, corn, peas, deviled eggs, rice, two kinds of gravy (I realize those last few aren't vegetables). One Thanksgiving several years ago, my mom thought we had so much other food that she didn't bother making the peas - not green English peas, brown Southern peas known variously as crowder peas or field peas. Well, this upset me because I love my mom's brown crowder peas - I generally mix them with the corn, mmmm. Mom told me to call my grandparents, who lived next door, and ask if I could have a bag of the peas that filled their outside freezer, peas my grandmother had shelled, cooked and frozen over the summer, and if so she'd fix them for me.

My grandparents were getting older and both were becoming hard of hearing, though neither would admit it. My granddad answered the phone and I asked him if I could come get a bag of peas. He didn't understand what I wanted, so I had to repeat myself several times.

"Cheese?"

"No sir, peas. Brown peas."

"Round cheese?"

"Brown crowder peas."

"Round ground-up cheese?!?"

"No sir, field peas. Brown crowder peas."

"Feel the cheese? Round ground-up cheese? What do you mean?" Finally, in utter frustration, my grandfather said, "I don't have any idea what it is you want, but come on next door and whatever it is, if I've got it you can have it." Isn't that sweet? He was that kind of person.

So I went next door, and my grandmother gave me a bag of her frozen peas, and my mom fixed them and I ate them, and I was happy. Thus another strange term was added to the Helly Lexicon, and yesterday if you'd been at our Thanksgiving dinner, you'd have heard various people asking for the round ground-up cheese to be passed, or complimenting my mom on the tasty round ground-up cheese, and asking for seconds. Wish my granddad could have been there; he'd have LOL'd.