thanksgivings.

Of all the holidays, Thanksgiving is the one I romanticize most. We’ve done the “normal” Thanksgivings — being with family, eating a lot. But it’s the ones that were different that stand out in my memory.

When I was in college, my dad’s first cousin was elevated from a Catholic Bishop to a Cardinal. On Thanksgiving morning, we traveled to Rome where I met a whole slew of priests and cardinals and even got to have a private audience with Pope John Paul II (well, “private” meaning me and 500 of my closest friends). That was the Thanksgiving where I toured the Vatican, walking where much of the general public isn’t allowed to tread and standing in the Sistine Chapel with only my sister. (She had accidentally left her sketch book on one of the benches, and we were allowed to go inside by ourselves to retrieve it.) We ate delicious Italian meals well into the night, and all the restaurants doted on “Father B” and his family like we were rock stars. It was the closest I’ve come to celebrity, and I have to say that access to all the best that Rome had to offer for those three days was pretty damn amazing.

Fast forward a few years to my hands-down favorite Thanksgiving of all. I’m not sure why it played out this way, but I was alone for Thanksgiving that year. I was single, but had been dating Joe over a year. He knew I would be alone, and decided to forego traveling to his parents’ home in Minneapolis instead to stay with me. I cooked a well-planned, but probably only okay Thanksgiving dinner. We drank wine, talked, listened to Christmas music, and then I let him in on a little secret: I was a total Black Friday shopper. But it’s no fun to hit the stores alone. I wanted him to go with me.

There is no way in hell Joe would ever go shopping with me in a million years now — especially not on Black Friday (which, incidentally, is now so low on my things to do list, I’d rather clean out the toilet bowl than shop) — but on that particular Thanksgiving, he made it seem like there was nowhere else he’d rather be.

We donned our coats and mittens and walked down The Magnificent Mile — Chicago’s Michigan Avenue. We warmed up with some hot chocolate and hopped from store to store. And then there was Tiffany’s. I pulled him in, and asked to see the engagement rings. I may have even tried one. “This looks nice,” I commented to a man clenching his fists so tight that his knuckles were translucent and I could see his bones.

And these words I will never forget: “I’m not making any promises,” he said, “I’m not making any promises.” Over and over again. He must have said it five times in a row.

We left the store, and relief washed over him like the sun at high noon. We continued down the street to Crate and Barrel, where I mentioned that registering for gifts there might be something for us to consider. We stopped in Rand McNally, where he thought he was safe, and I suggested we look at some maps for a honeymoon destination. There was no getting away for him that day, and by the spring, he proposed.

Although, the way he likes to tell that Thanksgiving story, I proposed. Though the words, will you marry me have never spilled from my lips. So you be the judge.

Along with sharing my most favorite Thanksgiving, Joe also happens to have shared the worst Thanksgiving ever with me. It was last year, and apparently he wasn’t speaking to me. I guess I wasn’t too happy with him at the time, because I honestly wasn’t aware of it.

On Sunday morning, his parents urged us to spend the morning with each other — to go to brunch. So we did. And after an entire weekend of simmering anger, we both exploded. Expletives careened out of my mouth like a mad machine gun, to which he requested in a very low, metered way, “Please stop swearing.” He noted that the other patrons in the restaurant were all staring at us. To which I replied, “I will swear if I fucking want to, and you can fucking stop telling me how to live my god-damned life!”

We never went back there again.

Oh, and incidentally, I think I mentioned Joe likes to call the Magnificent Mile Thanksgiving the one where I proposed. He likes to call last Thanksgiving the one where I wanted to take it back! Hey, what’s a holiday here and there without a major dramatic smack-down?

So there you have it — Thanksgiving, my favorite holiday. Not always honey and roses. Mostly just family and eating. But some of my most memorable life experiences have happened on Thanksgiving weekend.

Wishing you and yours a very Happy Thanksgiving!