Relative gratitude

Driving up and down the hills, my eyes rest upon a old familiar rooftop leafed between the orange and gold leaves of the Tennessee woods[polyptoton]. I thought to myself, 'Oh house of memories, how you remain, unchanged by time all these years[apostrophe/exclamatio]!' These sights and sounds trigger memories that stretch across my years [digression]. A wave of nostalgia fills and envelops my head as soon as I pull up the door. Who's already here when I arrive? My uncle, aunt, cousins, grandma, grandpa, father all come out to greet us in the rental [repetition/anthypophoria/asyndeton]. The new baby I never met wakes up and cries to the euphoria of academy award-sized cheers around him [hyperbole] as we are escorted through the front door to greet the turkey sitting readily on the counter.

The pitter-patter of happy little feet on linoleum and jabber of comments about our trip flood my ears as our suitcases and bags scuttle across the floor and are moved to the guest bedrooms [onomatopoeia]. The anticipated but ever feared kisses from grandma come before they can be suppressed and I get a comment of how good I look with facial hair. I blush, but only for a moment before Grandpa gives a holler for the food to be eaten while it's still hot. There's a scuffle and and in seconds, every seat in the kitchen is filled, all staring at the mountain of food before us [setentia]. My dad offers to say the thanksgiving prayer. Every head bows as humble words are offered. Thanks is given, in hushed tones, even while the baby is crying, roaring to be fed [antithesis]. When grace is said, the food is distributed and I look back to the walls and decorations of walls and a roof holding decades of Thanksgiving traditions [paraphrasis/end digression]. I smile to myself and give my own thanks to God for my family.