You might say my relationship with Luke had its beginnings over a Thanksgiving dinner we didn’t even eat together. In college, some friends of mine wanted to put together a night of turkey and stuffing a weekend before Thanksgiving, and I was elected cook. Here’s the thing- I didn’t know how to cook much more than to brown some ground beef or boxed macaroni and cheese. Maybe it was the borrowed Holstein-patterned apron I was wearing, but miraculously, a turkey, stuffing, gravy, green bean casserole, rolls and more came steaming from the little kitchen of my friend’s apartment. Our group filled the bedroom with a long table, sat down and thanked the Lord for this bounty. Later on, I heard that their next door neighbor, Luke, was home alone watching the OSU-Michigan game, and sick. I decided to share (and maybe show off my newfound culinary skills a little) a plate of food with him, and the rest is history. I love that he has always thought I was a good cook, even when I wasn’t. And, I love how we can accumulate fond holiday memories over the years that make us smile.