Thanksgiving on the Road: A Season of Family, Food, and Finding What Matters Most

This Thanksgiving stretched across state lines, dinner tables, and generations — the kind of holiday that reminds you why family is worth every mile. We started the week by loading up the car with half the family: Johnny, my sister, my daughter, my granddaughter, Lilly, and my grandson, Beau. He rode with us as far as Arkansas before we dropped him off with his dad. 

It was our first holiday without him at the table, and I’ll be honest — that one stung. You think you’re prepared for it, and then the quiet hits a little harder than you expect.

From Arkansas, we headed on to Kentucky for an early Thanksgiving with my cousins, and the moment we walked in, it felt like slipping right back into who we’ve always been. There’s a rhythm to family you can’t manufacture — old stories, inside jokes, games that get way too competitive, and the kind of laughter that fills up a room before anyone even realizes it.

And the cornbread dressing… my cousin Stephanie showed out this year. If you’ve never had true Southern cornbread dressing — not stuffing, dressing — you are missing one of the greatest joys on earth. When someone makes it right, it’s comfort, memory, and miracle all in one bite. Hers? As close to heaven as a casserole dish can get.

One of our clients and new friends, Kathy, surprised us with homemade apple cider snickerdoodle cookies and blondies, and I’d love to tell you I approached them with dignity. I did not. I ate most of them myself. They were ridiculous.

We carved out one night for dinner at Patti’s 1880’s Settlement in Grand Rivers — a place I’ve loved for over 30 years. Their pork chops are still unmatched. Truly. If that restaurant ever goes anywhere, I’ll need counseling.

Funny enough, Johnny and I packed some of our jewelry with us, thinking we’d take photos or show off new pieces while we were traveling. But somewhere between the games, the stories, and being wrapped up in the people who knew me long before J. Parker existed, work took a back seat.

And that was the gift I didn’t know I needed.
What we do mattered a whole lot less than who we are — and who we love.

After Kentucky, we headed back to Dallas for Thanksgiving Day with my son-in-law’s family. My daughter and he hosted this year, and watching her create a home where everyone felt welcome… that hit a different level of pride.

Somewhere in the middle of both gatherings, it hit me:
As I get older, I’m learning that what matters most is connection — real, intentional connection with family and friends. I forget how much I need it until I slow down long enough to feel it again. This year, I was reminded.

I’m grateful for the people around my table, the ones I miss when they’re not there, the ones I get to build a life with, the ones who walk around with tiny purses like 80-year-old ladies in toddler bodies. I’m grateful for long drives, good food, familiar faces, and the grounding that family brings.

This Thanksgiving wasn’t polished or picture-perfect. It was real.
And real is what I needed most.