Beep, Beep, Beep. The food timer goes off in our kitchen. The turkey must be done cooking. Thanksgiving is finally here, I think. Thanksgiving is one of my favorite holidays and the reason I enjoy it so much is because it brings family and friends together.

My grandmother, or Nana, as my siblings and I call her, walks in the door. Her hair whips around her face and her long, black coat with the shiny buttons I adore dances in the breeze. She says hello and drapes her coat over the honey colored chair. I notice what is in her frail hands. 'Here,' she says. 'It's a little present for your family.' I take it and call my father into our homey little kitchen. He gives my grandmother warm thanks and unwraps it. The sparkling tissue paper crinkles and cracks as my father's hands reveal a jar of trail mix as colorful as a water color painting. As I am handed the jar, the nuts and sweet candies inside jiggle and shake. I can't wait to try the trail mix. Mmm, I smell something simply delicious. It's the aroma of the turkey being pulled out of the oven. My stomach grumbles in response to the delectable smell.

I sit down as the turkey is placed on the countertop. My mouth waters. This turkey is the color of honey and the kitchen lights gleam off its perfect surface. The sweet potato casserole slouches in its dish. Its crunchy surface reminds me of a mountain range: bumpy and rocky. I glance at the cranberry sauce as it jiggles and wiggles. As my mother carries it over to the table, I imagine it slipping and sliding off of the plate. I shudder. 'Let's say what we're thankful for now,' I comment as my family members sit down. Most of us say that we are thankful for having a family. My father mentions something that I forgot about. He is thankful that everyone in our family is healthy and well. 'Time to dig in!' my brother Jamie shrieks, as he grasps the spoon for the sweet potato casserole.

The food aromas waft around and tickle my nose. What am I waiting for? I slap a glob of the casserole onto my plate while plucking a crisp dinner roll from the basket. As I ask my grandmother to pass the butter, I stab a slice of turkey with my fork. Surprisingly, it is very tender. I take a morsel of the turkey and gulp it down. Mmm, tender and a tad dry, but it'll do, I think. I shovel a spoonful of sweet potato casserole into my gaping mouth. A harmony of crunchiness and sweetness envelops my taste buds. I sigh and lean back in my chair. I gobble up the rest of my food and chug down my glass of water; it looks like the rest of my family is almost finished. My father stands up, yawns, and carries his dishes over to the sink. I follow suit. My mother and grandmother waltz over to the sink and begin the task of scrubbing and scouring the plates and cups.

While the adults wash the dishes in the kitchen, my sister, brother, and I read Thanksgiving books to each other. This has always been one of my favorite parts about Thanksgiving. After the dishes have been scrubbed to perfection, the adults come back into the living room. My mother glances at the Black Friday Sales ads. My grandmother and father converse on the couch. My brother stands up and asks if we can have pie. My father replies that we should let our feast digest in our stomachs first. My brother scoots back over to his spot on the floor. I continue reading my book. My mother stands up, pads over to the fireplace, and flips the switch to wake the fireplace into action. Everyone continues to lounge around in our living room until I hear clinking coming from the kitchen. I peek over the couch and spy my brother setting the table for pie. He must really want pie, I think. Everyone else notices too. We trickle into the kitchen. My dad balances the two pies, apple and pumpkin, and sets them on the table. I dig in, slicing a piece of pumpkin pie. It is shiny and smooth, the color of the dry leaves blowing around outside, and could be used in a television commercial because it looks so appetizing. On the other hand, there is the apple pie. It is covered in warm brown sugar and the apples have been drizzled in rich, creamy, cinnamon syrup. This pie looks like a stain and mess disaster, but I take a slice anyway. After most of us have finished our pie, my grandmother comments on how delicious the pie was, but she should be heading home. I glance at the clock. Ten o'clock already?! My grandmother gives me a peck on the cheek, waves goodbye, and is out the door. I dash upstairs and throw on my pajamas.

After everything is said and done, I realize how much I enjoyed that Thanksgiving. It also occurred to me that you don't have to have your all of extended family over to celebrate Thanksgiving. You can enjoy this special holiday even if it's just your small family. That is what matters the most to me.