Had he been waiting on the porch, counting down the seconds? It hadn’t worked. I was ready. “It’s a beautiful night. Look at all those stars. Let’s walk.” ‘It’s darn near freezing. You can see the stars through the windshield.” We drove. As we walked up on Aunt Mary’s front porch, Dan’s expression changed. He began to get that dreamy, wistful look common to men and dogs when they smell a really good dinner. I couldn’t blame him. The aroma of roasting pork with sage was enough to make anyone salivate. If tradition held, there would be homemade applesauce, pan roasted potatoes, and dark, rich gingerbread with lemon sauce. Tradition held. Aunt Mary met us at the door. I almost laughed at the expression on Dan’s face. Aunt Mary has never been one for home decorating. Everything she has she either inherited or picked up at the church rummage sales she runs, and she sees no need to color co-ordinate it. She wears her church sale clothes with the same disregard for fashion or figure.
