Nothing But Time

With one eye on the football game, Dad tended the dressed turkey that turned on the groaning rotisserie. Mom arranged the place settings with gold-trimmed china and crystal that were called to duty just twice a year.
Deb and I had no responsibilities other than to appear at our Thanksgiving feasts on time, recite our gratitude, and indulge.
At her house, Deb’s dad sharpened his carving knife. Deb’s mom, up since 4:30 AM, peeled potatoes.
Deb and I strolled down the mellow suburban streets. We then followed a dirt path to the railroad tracks. With nothing but time and the November breeze, we talked and walked along the endless rails.