“Pass the gravy, my dear,” says my Nana. Those sweet words drip from her mouth like honey. Around the oblong dining room table the chairs are squeezed so close together that I am touching shoulders with my uncle on my left, and cousin on my right. Candles glow and threaten to get knocked over by flailing hand gestures, as we all chit chat and chuckle. It is a wonderful vignette of us all deservingly stuffing our faces after the family turkey bowl.
This scene has become my romantic vision of Thanksgiving. In its honor I will create the Wilton Thanksgiving table guest list. This cast of guests fills me with some of my fondest memories of Wilton. And to my Nana, a New York native, I am sorry, but you may get the boot on this one.