cranberries and drive-thrus mean thanksgiving

Dad insisted that I drive to my grandfather's house for Thanksgiving because he likes me to drive through Atlanta. I'm not really sure why he always insists on this and I'm not really sure why I always agree to it because A. I almost always rear end someone in Atlanta traffic B. I almost always go the wrong way and C. I always have to take my family through a drive-thru.

Not that I am normally a composed and systematic person but I cannot do anything right in a drive-thru. And really, it is not for lack of trying. Usually one of the following things happens:

A. I order. My family doesn't know what they want to order. And then suddenly they all know. At the same time. And then they start yelling it at me because everyone else is yelling and they want to be heard. I slowly sink down in the seat and wish to disappear into oblivion.

B. Ordering goes smoothly. I go forward and begin to pull out the required amount of cash, plus exact change. I love to give exact change. It is a bright spot in my life. Did you know that if you carry 4 pennies, 3 quarters, 2 nickels, and 1 dime then you have the least amount of coins that you can make exact change for anything with? I hand the coins out the window into the palm of the expectant cashier and proceed to drop half of them and then, while mumbling apologies, I climb out of the car and pick them up. When I finally do get them to the lady, she looks disgustedly at the small collection of coins in her hand. I feel like I should offer her hand-sanitizer or something. But I don't because that is just not something that you do. Society really does not have the correct appreciation for exact change.

C. Ordering goes smoothly. I proceed to the second window or whatever and don't get close enough to the window. I can't back up because there is a car behind me. So I smile sheepishly at the girl who is there to take my money and she looks down her nose at me, completely unamused, with her little visor perched imperiously atop her forehead, and rolls her eyes. I completely unbuckle and stretch about 5 feet, with my entire upper body out the window and hand her the money. I then hang suspended over the abyss while the girl takes her sweet time getting the receipt. It is really awkward.

There is an infinite amount of situations like this that I am forever getting caught in, so I won't elaborate any further. Anyhow...

An Excerpt from my Thanksgiving...
My little cousin Kelsey and I are sitting at the table stringing cranberries and popcorn to hang up on a tree so that my grandfather can watch the birds from his kitchen table. We have proceeded so far in relative peace and silence when suddenly I notice that Kelsey has stopped with her needle in midair and is regarding me thoughtfully. I scoot my chair away from her slightly because she is the kind of kid that might be entertaining notions of stabbing me with said needle to laugh at me or something. Then she speaks...
"Ashlyn, do you guys decorate for Halloween anymore?"
"No, it is a Satanic holiday."
Okay fine, I didn't actually say that-- for heaven's sake Kelsey is like 9-- but it still would have been funny.
So, I really said...
"No, we did when Grant, and Ans, and I were younger, but we just don't do that anymore."
"Oh." Kelsey looks slightly crestfallen at my admission. "Well we still do. But I do it for different reasons than Alyssa (her younger sister) because I have different beliefs than she does."
Kelsey says 'beliefs' in such a tone as to cause me to stop stringing popcorn completely and sit and stare at her.
"And what kind of beliefs do you have, Kelsey?" I unfreeze myself.
"Well, I believe in Vampires. I study superstitions like that. I have a whole book on vampires and werewolves."
I raise one eyebrow and concentrate very hard on stabbing through the center of my cranberry. "Really?"
"Yes. And in that book, there is this story about this ghost targeting a girl," at this point, Kelsey has put down her needle entirely and is gesturing expressively with her hands, "and the ghost killed her father," now she leans in closer to me conspiratorially and whispers, "and the ghost pulled the girl's hair." With this climactic bit of information off her chest, she sits back down and begins stringing cranberries.

Delightful child. We are going to have a talk.