Mom makes them on honey wheatberry bread, using a nice slathering of warm gravy instead of mayo and white turkey meat. She cuts the sandwiches in half cross wise, then piles the sandwiches (things of beauty) up on this ancient wooden plate that I remember from my earliest days. Oh sloppy warm turkey laden goodness. I ADORE them. I can eat three sandwiches (6 halves) without even thinking about it. LOVE them. Below, Mom is making a sandwich.
So last year, when I couldn't be in the States, my family, with what I am sure was nothing but love and caring concern in their hearts, sent me pictures of the post-Thanksgiving turkey-gravy sandwich eating extravaganza. Here, below, is my brother with a plate of sandwiches and a loving look on his face, look at his concern and how much he misses his sister.
Here's my brother and his wife Kathy eating their sandwiches, in a show of Thanksgiving solidarity at my sadness that I could not join them. I am quite sure they were forced to eat the sandwiches, they seem so reluctant.
Here's a picture of Kit holding a plate with a sandwich with a bite out of it, apparently a bite that he took in honor of me. I am quite sure that is NOT a shit eating grin on his face, that he was not saying "Nyah nyah I'm having sandwiches and you are not!". No, my brother loves me too much to be that mean and cruel.
Ah Thanksgiving. A time to show family love and closeness. (koff)(koff)Happy Thanksgiving everyone. I hope you all have a great day.
To my brother: The next day? Enjoy your sandwiches, BEYOTCH!!
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