Someone in one of my teams was challenged by another team to write a blog about their favorite Thanksgiving memory, and as soon as I read that the room was filled with the smell of roasting beef, Yorkshire pudding, and puppy-breath.

When I was a child we spent Thanksgiving with my “uncles.” I sometimes think about how amazingly lucky I was, growing up in the 1960s and 1970s, to have a mother (who grew up in a place and time where there was a lot of prejudice and bigotry, especially within her own family) who loved so many people regardless of color or sexual orientation, and who loved so freely that it never seemed odd to us to have two Uncles who loved each other and lived together.

Uncle Jim raised Afghan Hounds and Uncle John played the piano and cooked! We spent every Thanksgiving I can remember with them, and there were always a lot of people there. Some came every year, some only once, but there was always a crowd. Uncle John had TWO OVENS in his kitchen and made Turkey in one and Beef in the other, and while I no longer eat beef, I can still taste that Yorkshire Pudding cooked in the beef juice.

We were always allowed to play with the Afghan pups, and you know how a lot of times as a kid you are in the way? Or you feel like you’re not appreciated? I never felt that way at my Uncle’s house. I was always loved and appreciated and listened to.

My Uncle Jim passed away a few years ago, and even though he lived 1600 miles away, and I hadn’t seen him in years, the world seems just a little bit dimmer without his smile in it.

My favorite Thanksgiving memory? It was being loved. Loved amidst the smell of beef and Yorkshire Pudding and puppy breath.