We're going to my mom's for Thanksgiving on Thursday–this will be the first time I (and the MM and kids) haven't hosted Turkey Day in about four years.

I called my mom, who is going back to work today after a short retirement of seven months because she got a 12-18 month consulting gig that she couldn't refuse, to find out what I could bring on Thursday.

She told me "nothing." I pressed. "Come on, Mom, are you sure? You're going to do everything? How about a dessert?"

"Nope. You don't have to do anything, Colleen! Just enjoy." Then she laughed, "Because next year it's back on you." (Which is fine with me.)

But what's interesting is that that is the case on my mom's side of the family–always, the host/hostess does everything. You show up, a guest for dinner. You might be able to help clear the table or clean up (but my mom is so particular about how her kitchen is cleaned up that that's pretty much where it stops–don't dare try to load the dishwasher or you might put the stuff in wrong.)

(Hmmm. I've recently begun to threaten Dishwasher Loading Classes at my house since I'm constantly rearranging the dishes in there. Think the apple fell pretty close to the tree in that case?)

Now, when we have family get-togethers with my in-laws, it's a different story. We all bring one or two dishes when we come, that way the host/hostess doesn't have to do it all. That's the norm for that side of the family.

Pretty much without exception, that's how it goes, as far as family dynamics for holidays/dinners.

How do you do it at your house? Do you have a preference?

And, finally, the most burning question of all: do you put your silverware handle-up or handle-down when you load the dishwasher???? 

My friend Holli (a finalist in the American Title IV contest–did you vote yet? Go! Go!) received a Christmas card from a friend on Monday of this week.

Monday.

A full week and a half before (the American) Thanksgiving, which, incidentally, is really early this year.

You know…that kind of thing makes me want to wring my hands and run screaming to the crazy house. How can someone be that organized–and then rub your face in it?

I mean, if you have to do your Christmas/holiday cards early, fine. So be it.

But don't mail them until after December 1. Or at least, until after Thanksgiving.

There is no reason to make the rest of us feel more guilty, overwhelmed, and behind than we already feel at this time of year. Savvy?

Need I say more? 

I was in a restaurant late last night, working furiously on When Twilight Burns (after a grueling nine-hour drive home from the UP) when, in my efforts to be distracted and to procrastinate, I began to examine a copy of a Casablanca poster, which hung next to my booth.

I got to thinking about the name Humphrey. What would you call the kid for short? Humph? Hum?

(Guess that's why Bogey was Bogey, eh?)

Poor kid.

My husband's family has a slew of… interesting …names. They're from the South, and the family tree includes genuine, birth-certificate gems like Hassel…and his brother Lassel. Oh, and a cousin called Leward (that's "LEW-erd"). And one called Hurst.

So, yeah. Humphrey.

Maybe I ought to name a character Humprhey Humphrey (if I could spell the blasted thing). He could be a low-talking, smooth, cigarette pipe-smoking detective who doesn't take any crap from anyone. Except pretty women, and even then he knows what they're up to.

Hmmm. There is a detective in my current book. Maybe I'll change his name.

(Quick! What's the '80s song/comedian reference??)

Okay, the fam and I are off to the Upper Peninsula of Michigan for my grandmother's funeral. For those non-Michiganders out there, here's a bit of orientation about the culture of northern Michigan:

When you're in Michigan, you use your right hand as a map, and then your left hand as the Upper Peninsula–or, U.P. ("Yoo-Pee"). Or, if you're really feelin' it: Da Yoop.

As you probably know, the Mackinac Bridge connects the Lower Peninsula (the "mitten") of Michigan–where I live–to the U.P. The Yoopers call us Lower Peninsula people "trolls"–'cause we live under the bridge.

Heh.

Da Yoop is known for pasties, copper, deer hunting, and a bar on every street corner–and then some. When you're in Da Yoop, you add "eh!" to the end of every sentence, such as "Let's go to the bar, eh!" or "Get yer hands off my deer rifle, eh!" or "Got enough snow on your truck, eh?"

My grandparents moved to the UP the year I was born, so we always had a long-distance (9-10 hours worth) relationship. Every summer we made the trip up, and maybe once or twice for Thanksgiving or Christmas. (Driving in the UP in the winter is Not Fun.)

Well, that's it. Wish us a safe, quick journey. The blog might be a little quiet unless Jackie Kessler, who has a NEW BOOK out, sends me a guest blog post. Even if she doesn't, you really need to check out her Jezebel books….Romantic Times gave The Road to Hell 4.5 stars and a Top Pick–which is better than a gold star.

Plus, if you buy Jackie's book by today (oops, sorry for the short notice), you have a chance to win a pretty red iPod nano. I don't know about you, but I think it's wayyy sweeter than a black one. 

Since I think I'm the only person in the world without an iPod.

But that, my friends, is a blog post for another day.