Long-time readers will remember that we don’t consider any celebratory gathering a true success unless there has been at least one crisis. This year’s Thanksgiving crisis was thoughtfully provided by none other than our own #1 Son.

I headed south (they have moved since last year) to the house of friend B, his wife K, and their family, candied sweet potatoes in hand. #1 Son headed north to pick up girlfriend E. They were planning a two-house Thanksgiving hop, and were to meet me at B’s in time for dinner. From there they would return to E’s house to eat dinner with her family.

All of us at B’s house were just getting ready to sit down for dinner when my cell phone rang:

#1 Son (I swear in one breath): The check engine light came on and the car started sort of shuddering and I’m afraid to drive it after all the stuff that happened before and so I pulled off the freeway at the next exit and parked at Capitol Hwy and Taylor’s Ferry and now I don’t know what to do and I’m not even sure exactly where I am and what should I do now?

Mom: Stay there. I’ll come and get you and we’ll figure it out later.

#1 Son: We’re supposed to go back to E’s house.

Mom: We’ll figure it out. I’ll be there as soon as I can.

#1 Son: Do you know where this is?

Mom: Yes. Don’t worry, I’ll find you.

Reminding myself that kids are more important than turkey, I told B and company that I’d be back in time for seconds with kids in tow, and off I went. We were, indeed, back for seconds (our firsts), and there was plenty left. We had a very nice time, as always, with good company, good food, a fun game, and great conversation.

We needed to leave a little bit earlier than I would have liked, because, of course, #1 Son and E had to go back to her house for their second dinner. Since we were now reduced to only one car, the only sane thing to do was for them to drop me off at home and take my car. My Prius. Have I told you how I love my Prius? I told E to make sure that #1 Son drove carefully.

About 40 minutes after they dropped me off at home #1 Son called:

#1 Son: Mom, I’m really sorry but on the way back to her house E didn’t feel well and there wasn’t a good place to pull over and she got kinda car sick and I’m afraid she puked all over your car but we’re trying really hard to clean it up. Sorry about that. I hope you’re not too mad.

No, I wasn’t too mad. Getting sick isn’t exactly a choice. And the kids did try really hard to get it cleaned up.

Today on the way to where #1 Son left his car, I stopped at the store and picked up a can of Arm & Hammer no-vacuum carpet deodorizer spray. It pretty much took care of any lingering effects.

#1 Son’s car? A loose wire on the spark plug. The mechanic charged nothing to fix it while giving the car the oil change that #1 Son had put off a few miles too long.

Of course the greatest tragedy of the whole adventure was that the only left overs we had in our possession when leaving B’s house was a few of the candied sweet potatoes, and #1 Son took those to E’s house. So this year, for the first time in a long, long time, I’m not making my traditional post-Thanksgiving turkey shepherd’s pie. I may have to pick up a few of the ingredients at the deli tomorrow and fake it.

Tonight I’m working on the long-neglected Pacific Northwest Shawl. I’m on the second-to-last seagull group. I’d like to get this one finished, I think. I’ve made good progress on the Donegal tweed sweater, also. And the socks are always going.

I hope all of you had a Thanksgiving that was special and full of good things.