This Thanksgiving is for the birds�literally. No, this Thanksgiving is not for Tweedledumb and Tweedledumber, the past and future occupants of my living room. I would not say I have ever made my peace with them but I have accepted them, something in the way that one accepts punishment as part of atonement for past crimes. (The crime, of course, was being an easy touch for those baby blue eyes of Mr. Philately who wanted to give his children something special.) This Thanksgiving appears to be for the only guests who will grace (or something) my table this weekend�the three cockatiels that have temporary shelter in my dining room.

The cockatiels are Day-Hay�s guests. She is bird-sitting them. Or at least I think it is Day-Hay who is bird-sitting them. It might be Mr. Philately, although Day-Hay is making the money. These cockatiels, unlike our own birdbrains, actually like people. They like being out of their cages. They like causing tremendous messes and lots of laundry. I�m SO glad they�ve come to dinner.

Of course, as no one else is coming to dinner, I�m not sure that it matters. For the first time ever, we are going nowhere and no one is coming here, other than those birds. I suppose we could have gone to Mr. Philately�s family but I gave up on that possibility long ago. They are not willing to disrupt their �normal� plans. I can have Thanksgiving with them�on Friday. On Thursday they will leave me a key and a note and tell me to make myself at home�and they will do it after I have driven seven hours or so. Nothing says love like being asked to �second-best� Thanksgiving.

Meanwhile, anyone who wants to come here is welcome. Childhood Thanksgivings included in-laws of in-laws and such people would be welcome at my house too. In past years, I�ve gone to friends, usually with my brother. But my brother is down at Maxiegirl�s this year because she and her kids need him more. This year I am up to me.

Kat, who has a generous nature, has agreed to watch football with me. I�m not sure I really care about the Packers game (Ooo, Wisconsin sacrilege, someone report me!) but it is as close to the old days of the Teaneck-Hackensack football game as I�ll get. Day-Hay and Mr. Philately won�t even eat turkey with me. They claim vegetarians don�t do that. Bah, humbug! Turkey for two is not practical, especially if one of the two will only eat dark meat, so Kat talked me into having steak. Doesn�t that sound like a Thanksgiving tradition?

But I was going to use a tablecloth and good dishes in the dining room�until I walked in there this morning and remembered it had become a birdie motel room. Instead, we�ll have stovetop stuffing, canned cranberry sauce, and just yams (because not enough of these picky eaters will eat a yam casserole) at the kitchen table, perhaps with a tablecloth and good dishes.

This holiday is for the birds�and they can have it. I�ll do the gratitude thing tomorrow. I�ll be grateful that it�s over.

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