A Thanksgiving Gotcha

Our friends even made place cards for our holiday meal.

Good friends. We have such good friends.

It's Wednesday and we're inside Otto (our motorhome) in a Walmart parking lot in Elizabethtown, KY. Tomorrow is Thanksgiving and all has gone according to plan.

My husband, Allen, and I will spend Thanksgiving together, in this parking spot at  Walmart, where we will enjoy chicken salad and cranberry sauce as our holiday feast.

Like I said, it's all according to plan. We schemed to do this, telling very few people, and especially avoiding holiday conversation with the friends we visited earlier this week (Betty and family) and those we will visit on Friday (Bob and Kathy).

Because we want to avoid imposing on anyone's holiday, we're hush hush, sitting in this Walmart parking lot, according to plan.

Then, I get an email: "Allen & Nancy, Call Bob when you get this." So we do. And Bob asks forthright: "Are you planning on spending Thanksgiving in a Walmart parking lot?"

With that one question, he dashes all our planning, all our scheming, all our good intentions. We can obfuscate no longer. And we cannot lie.

So we end up blessed -- BLESSED -- as Thanksgiving guests No. 12 and 13 with Bob and Kathy's family.

We have such good friends. Such good intuitive friends.