The Keith Holidays

I hope you all had a great Thanksgiving holiday filled with family, laughter and lots of good food. For the fourth year in a row I enjoyed a Keith Thanksgiving complete with its southern charm.

Thanksgiving lunch is always held at Chad's grandfather's house; the home of Harold Keith, father to seven children-three boys and four girls. All of Chad's aunts and uncles are grandparents except Wayne and Renee, my in-laws. So when the Keith clan gathers for Thanksgiving lunch, there is little room to sit. The small house is full of treasures and trinkets that speak to the family that grew up within its four walls; endless picture frames, counted cross-stitch mementos of 50 years of marriage, multiple sets of elaborate china, and couches worn thin by the presence of family and friends. Turkey and all the "fixings" are spread across the empty counter space in the kitchen. The buffet boasts turkey, ham, stuffing, sweet potato casserole, green bean casserole, baked macaroni and cheese, chicken pot pie, yummy rolls, carrots, beans, corn, vegetable casserole, cranberry sauce, gravy and sweet tea to drink.

After lunch we scurried home for a couple hours to let out the dogs (we were dog sitting for friends) and nap before heading out for dinner at Chad's parents. We were joined there by Cameron (Chad's older brother), his wife Emily, Weston (Chad's younger brother), his girlfriend Amanda, and Rick (Chad's uncle). It was really a joyous day.

Yesterday Chad and I welcomed Christmas into our home. Since we are heading to New York for about a week over the holiday we wanted to savor every minute of Christmas in our own home. We picked up a tree at a local Christmas tree lot and decorated it in our red and gold ornaments. I used some of the tree trimmings to make homemade garland on our mantle and the windowsill over the kitchen sink. Every year we accrue more holiday decor and I feel like it is starting to shape into my final vision on our own Keith Christmas.

Enjoy the start of your holiday season.

The Pitch

Growing up with a European father causes a small child to believe that there is only one sport in this world:  football (soccer). March Madness was March Sanity; the Super Bowl was an unobserved event; our World Series participation ended when my father asked my mother how many points a home run was worth. Naturally, I began playing the game shortly after I realized legs were meant for walking and stopped only after my junior year in college. Lazy Saturday mornings were spent watching Dennis Bergkamp lead the Dutch national team, or David Beckham's set plays continue to befuddle opposing players. To me, that was home.

Today, I share the couch with my husband, captivated by the 3-3 Germany versus Ukraine friendly. My husband, born to American parents, grew up watching every sporting event I didn't. Soccer was as foreign to him as marrying a Yankee. He has recently taken an enthusiastic interest in all things soccer: the English Premier League, Bundesliga, the Dutch national team, figuring out the ins-and-outs of a game I fell in love with at an early age. Watching him taking the time to learn and appreciate something so special to me warms my heart. To me, this is home.