Thanksgiving at my grandparents' house
Thanksgiving in my grandparents' house was always a delicious, uproarious occasion. When we arrived, the house was filled with the aroma of turkey, mincemeat pies, and home-baked breads wafting from the oven. The shrieks of rowdy children tumbling over one another echoed through the downstairs rooms, and the bellow of a basset hound rang from the back steps. The antique armchairs and sofa were positioned with exquisite care, and the living room sparkled from hours of dusting, sweeping, and scrubbing. …
