Our niece hosted the usual big friends-and-family gathering today, and politics never came up. The obnoxious brothers who used to express right-wing views have now moved far away, and those few left who might share them are more circumspect. Everyone present had a good time. My brother and his fiancée came in from out of town, and I got to introduce her to the hostess's famous artichoke dip.
My own contribution was a roasted broccoli dish the recipe for which I found in my files a couple weeks ago and made for dinner at home, where it earned raves from B. and a strong suggestion I bring it for Thanksgiving. So I did even though I wasn't sure it would keep. It has broccoli, parmesan, and pine nuts, marinated in a combo of olive oil, vinegar, soy sauce, margarine, lemon juice, and just about every herb and non-hot spice in the cabinet.
Carnivorous offerings included smoked turkey, prime rib, and a beef Wellington that only appeared after most of us had eaten.
I sat for dinner next to the autistic grand-nephew who's now in his 20s and whose social skills have made impressive leaps in the last few years. I'm quite proud of him.
Afterwards, most of the family contingent drove by appointment to the nearby rehab facility where the patriarch, hostess's father, is recovering from physical difficulties and also beginning to suffer from dementia. We met him in a largish room set aside for such gatherings. He was in good cheer and easy to talk to, though he was having difficulty remembering who people were, even his own son. A sad situation.
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