So, it’s
been a while. The timeliness of writing Thanksgiving-themed blog posts on
December 8 leaves something to be desired, I’ll admit. It’s like Parks and Rec
not starting until January, though: better late than never, amIright?
Friday
I left
Baltimore after work the Friday before Thanksgiving more excited than I’d been
in a while – I had a full week off, was going to New York, and would be lucky
enough to celebrate Thanksgiving twice. All signs pointed to a phenomenal time.
The holiday
started in fine fashion as I stopped in Newark (no, not Newark. New-Ark. Why, I
really don’t know.), Delaware to meet Gina’s friend Jen for coffee. Shameless
plug alert: their previous exploits can be found here.
Gina predicted what would happen next, and indeed, she was correct – coffee turned
into an hour and a half of the best conversation. I guess Jen and I both like
to talk. Not that sorry about it. Plus as beautiful and majestic as I-95 and
the New Jersey Turnpike are, I was in no hurry to get back on the road. If I
didn’t make it to the Garden State Parkway before 8 PM, believe me, I wasn’t
going to miss anything.
Coffee was
great – I’ll leave you to guess who got a girlier drink than whom – and I
reached my aunt and uncle’s house in Little Silver later that night, but not
before two of the fastest roadside transactions of my life occurred. Having
exactly $3 of cash in my wallet when my gas light turned on about 15 miles from
my destination left me in a bit of dilemma. I just didn’t want to use my card
at that point, or wait around to fill up, so I told the kind-hearted gentleman
at the Sunoco by the Asbury Park Toll Plaza that I had $3 and to do to his
heart’s content with that information. He pumped seven-tenths of a single
gallon into my car, asked for $2 (it cost $2.03, but my guy cut me a break.
Shout-out to you, sir), and sent me on my merry way, all literally within 45
seconds of my arrival into the gas station. Then, having not consumed what I
like to call nourishment since lunch, I pulled into the Burger King drive-thru in
Red Bank. Again, it took less than a minute for my bacon cheeseburger to be
ready – yes, the cheese was simply a slice that in no shape or form was
anywhere near melted, but I’ll take what I can get.
Saturday
The next
morning I was up before 8 to help my uncle unload and set up Christmas trees
with the Little Silver volunteer fire department. The best part of that
experience was the bagels there before we got started – I’ve been living a farce
of a life the last 21 years since my family left New Jersey, with the “bagels”
we’ve been eating since then. Anyway, there’s nothing like a bunch of big, buff
Jersey guys lifting things and talking about their kids and high school
football to start a Saturday morning. All of them were great to me, though, to
be fair, and I was glad to contribute to a good cause. People of Monmouth
County, go there to pick out your Christmas trees this year. So many different
types and sizes!
 |
| Not bad, right? |
Saturday afternoon was spent watching college football, as all November afternoons should be spent, and that evening my uncle, cousin Ann, and I went to Monmouth University to watch a true battle of the titans. I’m shaking as I type this. The Monmouth Hawks were taking on the Central Connecticut State Blue Devils in a tilt of colossal proportions, one that the home team would win 65-50 despite falling behind 12-0 in the first half. The game itself was alright, but it was our seats that made the occasion. I’ve been to a ton of sporting events in my life, from baseball to college basketball to college soccer here and professional soccer in the top two leagues in England, but never have I sat as close to the action as we did on this night. Courtside, first row, right behind one of the baskets. There’s honestly nothing like a team storming down the court right at you on a fast break, and seeing the raw athleticism and ability those players had, even at a low-major level of basketball. There’s also honestly nothing like sitting right by the cheerleaders and hearing the internal drama of a squad. “I hate when we do that cheer! We’re so much better at this one! Would’ve been nice if she told us what cheer we’re doing next! She always does this!” And on and on and on. Despite it being less than 40 degrees outside, we finished the evening with ice cream at Hoffman’s. That’s just how we do things.
Sunday
My last day
in Little Silver for this visit was a quiet one. I went to church for the first
time since the last time I was in New Jersey – the Church of the Nativity, my
parish away from parish (isn’t that the saying?). We then went to a local
market to get food for lunch at what had to be the exact same time that the
rest of the population of Monmouth County decided to go to that very same
market for the very same reason. Lunch was delicious – it’s hard to go wrong
with buffalo wings and chicken tenders, and I also had a potato pancake. Just
call it a hash brown, though, and be done with it.
The meatball
was flying home from South Carolina for her Thanksgiving break on Sunday
afternoon, too, and she came to Little Silver to meet my aunt and uncle for a
little while. That went very well, if I do say so myself, and then she and I
headed to her house in Howell to have dinner with her mom, brother, and his
girlfriend, the latter two of which I had never met myself. There was an
interesting detour at the Gap in Shrewsbury, in which I waited patiently behind
two women who must’ve been outfitting their babies for the next 17 winters with
all the clothes they were buying. Why parents spend so much money on baby
clothes is beyond me, since they’ll last literally a few months before they don’t
fit anymore, but ok. You do you, ladies. All I needed was for the sales
associate to take the lock thing off a pair of jeans I had bought several weeks
ago in Columbia (Shameless plug 2.0 alert: those exploits can be found here),
though the cashier there decided to be derelict in his duty and leave it on.
When I’m just standing there with a pair of jeans in one arm, and the women have approximately 13 bags’ worth of clothes between you, one would think they
would let me go in front of them. One would be completely and utterly wrong.
Yet another reason shopping and I don’t get along.
We made it
back to Howell in time for a delicious dinner, featuring some of the best
meatballs I’ve ever had. I confessed my fear of ice cream, sort of, though only
when it is in a bowl and very melted and milky. Get that away from me, please.
Do not, under any circumstances, lick the bowl in front of me like my brother
does. Also Gina’s brother, Cameron, casually lit his girlfriend, Jaime, on fire
at the table. So there’s that on what was a terrific Sunday dinner.
The next
morning, Gina and I headed into New York City, a trip I’ll talk about at length
in part two of this Thanksgiving blog. Hopefully that won’t take two weeks to
write and post. Oops. More to come.
