The day after Thanksgiving is one of those random days when you could do so many things, or just sit like a lump and do nothing while last night's meal continues to digest, not that the digestion of a former meal stops you from indulging again. It's the day after Thanksgiving and no one's coming for dinner. If that's not something to be thankful for, what is? The best part about the day after: You can do whatever and no one cares. Why? I'll tell you why. Because this is America, the land of... hmmm. Let me ruminate on that and get back to you. In the meantime, let me explain the action shot above. Playing ice hockey is the eldest son, in a Number 17 jersey that pays tribute to his late childhood friend, Jonny Rose. Every year, on the day after Thanksgiving, he plays ice hockey at Pickwick Rink with a few lifelong friends who also knew and loved Jonny, and some other nice peeps whose dads work with longtime hubby. The support team schlepped to Burbank to cheer on Billy and the boyz. No question, Chlo-Chlo was the most enthusiastic of the bunch. "Make your wife proud!" she yelled, and he tried. He really did. So we holla'd supportive things and clapped and froze our toes. The last time the SJG was in an ice rink was... I couldn't possibly tell you. I will tell you this: It was freaking cold, even with the mandatory outerwear. But it was all part of the plan. We're in training, you see. Soon we'll be visiting France, as one does now and then, in my case, not since 1978, but who's keeping track. So we're getting our bodies ready. We're conditioning them for winter, something we don't get much of in these parts. Later, to prep my keppy for the chill, I'll stick my head in the freezer and watch things defrost. How was your Day After?
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