Peering out the picture window and waiting with keen interest to see the line of cars and trucks I knew would be pulling into the driveway, I silently hoped my father would be the one who would have a buck in tow.
The smell of a freshly baked apple pie mixed nicely with the aroma coming from the banana bread that was finishing its journey in the oven before it would be packed into the car and brought to my grandparents’ house for the annual Thanksgiving feast, where my aunts, uncles, cousins and other distant relatives would share thanks and catch up on yearly happenings.
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