Because I believe in time travel, my choice for Thanksgiving dinner would be to join my great grandparents Sabra Lucinda Miner and Alfred Gallatin Sturgis, in Ravenna where they are stationed by the Methodist Church. My grandfather George Sturgiss isn't born yet; he'll come along in a couple of years when the church assigns his parents to Poland. A.G., having grown up in Fayette County, Pennsylvania, is still new to the New England traditions of Thanksgiving brought by the pioneers from Connecticut. My great-grandmother writes to her parents that he "preached us a thanksgiving sermon. He took this text, 'Enter into his gates with thanksgiving and into his courts with praise; be thankful unto him and bless his name, for the Lord is good.' This was only the second one he ever attended. After service we went to Brother Prentiss' to partake of the bounties of Providence. [This would be Cyrus Prentiss, a devoted Methodist and proprietor of the Prentiss House, one of the major hotels in Ravenna at the time.] Sixteen of us sat down to a table loaded with roast turkey, chicken pie, turnips, potatoes, onions, pickles, sauces, cakes, pies and teas of different kinds. A. G. thinks now he has gotten to be quite a Yankee!" Oh to be number 17 at that table. I could ask questions to my heart's content and fill in all the blanks. Then maybe I could finish my book about Sabra and Alfred's lives! Happy Thanksgiving to all, Sabra in Los Angeles