Packed airports. Sold out car rentals. Granny’s diverticulitis. Fights over who’s going to cook what. Ah, Thanksgiving.
Last night, I had worked myself into a state of psychotic anxiety around Thanksgiving arrangements when I remembered something my eldest son, Henry, said years ago as we were preparing to schlep across the country for the holidays.
“Let’s ride the fun plane!”
He was referring, of course, to airplanes that had TV’s in them, but I’m adopting it as my new holiday mantra.
When over-cooked-turkey-psychosis sets in, I will take a breath and say these words: Book a seat on the fun plane, Sam.