there are the mckenzies. and then there is everybody else.

holidays on one end of my family sometimes (always) go a little like this:

we drink wine from a box.

for no better reason than there is no reason at all.

[except that it’s tradition. and you don’t mess with tradition.]

we share our wealth of boxed wine with Maddie Pie.

because we are good sharers.

and because we think she will like it.

but she doesn’t really like it and runs away.

and we think this is funny.

we drag canoes to the middle of the yard.

because why not.

and then we get inside the canoe.

and then we find all the concrete sculptures scattered around the yard and decide they would like to get inside the canoe, too.

and we think this is also funny.

 

and then we pose for an absurd number of photos with our concrete sculptures.

in the canoe.

in the yard.

with the box of wine.

and then we try to put Maddie Pie in the bird bath.

but she is not into this.

kinda like she is not into the box of wine.

so we sit in the bird bath without her.

and that suits us just fine, too.

 

and then we sit on the back steps and talk about how glad we are that we are McKenzies.

and how we don’t really want to know what a “normal” thanksgiving is like.

because we think it might be boring.

and the McKenzie family doesn’t do boring.

or normal, for that matter.

 

[*editor’s note: if you are wondering where all the other McKenzie members are . . . they were the peanut gallery taking the photos. naturally. or inside eating.]