Descriptive Essay

Is That Orange Juice? As far back as I can remember Thanksgiving was one of my favorites, not for the fall decorations, or the plethora of Football games, but for the food. Ah, the food, when I was a little girl, I used to be awakened by the smell of the savory butter that was melting atop the stove, as I heard the sweet onions being chopped, I knew it was starting; the beginning of the Thanksgiving feast. As I got up and wiped the sleep dust from my eyes, I anxiously ran into the kitchen shouting “Nana, can I help, please Nana?” As my grandmother looked into my sweet brown eyes and replied, “Grab a stool my sweet child, and I’ll get you an apron.” My heartbeat was so loud from the excitement that I thought the neighbors could hear. I raced to the table, grabbed the stool and was anxiously awaiting my assignment. “Julie”, my grandmother stated, “How would you like to help me make the stuffing?” I gasped at the thought to be a part of her infamous stuffing of the delicious bird. “Really Nana, oh my”, I replied with such excitement that I almost fell off the stool. And here it starts, this magical moment, when my grandmother handed me the greenest stalks of celery my eyes ever encountered along with a sharp little paring knife and said “Julie, please be careful as I do not want any fingertips in the stuffing this year.” I looked at her, my eyes full of tears with the excitement of being an integral piece of the compellation and said, “I promise Nana.” As I started to chop the celery into what my grandmother told me were to be “paper-thin” slices I drifted away for a moment, thinking about what it would be like to be a grown-up, having my own Thanksgiving feast. Fast forward twenty years or so, and here I am a grown-up or so I believe to be, having my first Thanksgiving feast in my newly purchased home. The house is decorated with all of the warm colors of fall, for all around I can see the warmth of the yellows, reds and oranges as you enter