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Thanksgiving at my grandparents' house
Thanksgiving in my grandparents' house was always a delicious, uproarious occasion. When we arrived, the house was filled with the aroma of turkey, mincemeat pies, and home-baked breads wafting from the oven. The shrieks of rowdy children tumbling over one another echoed through the downstairs rooms, and the bellow of a basset hound rang from the back steps. The antique armchairs and sofa were positioned with exquisite care, and the living room sparkled from hours of dusting, sweeping, and scrubbing. Familiar candelabra on the mantel added an extra li…
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