By Jay Merton & Medford Ambrose

I just stepped out on the back porch, and with my ever-present mug, china, not stoneware, filled with steaming organically-grown, free trade, Guatemalan-roast coffee, I was savoring the 33ºF clear morning, and the apple pie beginning to bake in my oven—when I heard my side-gate creak open. Its 5:30 in the morning!

Just as I was about to grab my trusty plough-share, Medford ambled up out of the darkness, empty mug in hand.

“Mornin’ Jay,” he said as he stepped up on the porch, “got some coffee for a friend?”

“Go on in,” I replied, “there’s creamer & sugar by coffee maker.”

“What brings you by this time of the morning?” I asked as he came back outside.

“Good coffee,” he said, “Got the bird on the big Weber©, and to keep me from messing with it, I decided to head over here for a bit. Ohhh—that pie smells gooood!”

“Mom’s recipe, Ari wasn’t much of a baker,” I said, a little wistfully, “but she was a wicked good cook!”

“Y’ever get over it?” Med asked, “losing Ari.”

“No,” I replied, “but, in time, I’ve gotten to a point where I smile when I think of her, instead of…well, you know.”

“Not first hand, not yet, anyway,” he said, “I think about it though.”

“Dog too,” I said.

“Huh?”

“I smile when I think about CooCoo,” I said, “Usually I think about her when I’m with little Daisy.”

“I’m sorry I brought it up,” Med said quietly, “I better head back home, Laura’ll be needing me.”

“I’ll be by in a bit, after the pie is done, and Med?” I continued, “no need to be sorry. What’s more appropriate to Thanksgiving than to reminisce about those departed ones, who have been so important in our lives?”