Gobble Gobble.

Just like mom used to make.

Another day, another day.  Get up.  Go to work.  Read emails from the command chief of the base and the commander about how they're "honored" to share this Thanksgiving with "warriors" such as ourselves.  In fact, the email from the General was the first time that I ever heard/read somebody use the phrase "fight the good fight" without trying to make fun of someone or without trying to intentionally sound like a douchebag.

Or maybe he was.  I don't know.

But the food was surprisingly good.  Except for the roast beef thing.  It was really dry, but hey, I'm not gonna complain.  It is what it is.

Eat it while you can, because tomorrow they're serving chili mac.

 The Services squadron really pulled out all the stops for Thanksgiving lunch/dinner.  They had a huge table loaded with a sculpture of two swans, a cornucopia, some really weird bust of a native american, complete with the feathers in the hair.  All the tables had white tablecloth on them and the TCNs that worked there (Third Country Nationals, basically the underpaid Bangladeshis and Filipinos who serve our food and clean our toilets) were dressed in white button-down shirts and vests as if we were at some classy eating establishment.  It actually felt like some kind of special occasion; a bit of holiday cheer in the middle of nowhere, in a "sunny undisclosed location in Southwest Asia."