I've crossed the line and become one of the wacky relatives I blog about.

We had a wonderful Thanksgiving in Shallotte. Daddy made his famous fresh flounder with shellfish stuffing, Aunt Jo brought ham with her wonderful ham gravy and raisin glaze, and Steve made a beautiful apple tart.

After lunch, we put the phone on speaker and called Jill and the boys in Vermont. After we heard, "Hello?" my parents, Aunt Jo, Steve and I shouted "Happy Thanksgiving!" Then we heard a little boy voice ask, "Who is this?"

My mama talked over the rest of us and said, "It's Pops, Tweet, Aunt Jo, Aunt Lee Lee and Uncle Steve!"

After a moment of silence, a grownup-lady voice came on the phone. We all started talking over each other again, announcing Thanksgiving best wishes.

"I'm sorry?" came the reply.

So for what seemed like an excruciating amount of time, we all looked at each other, whispering maybe we'd dialed the wrong number. I can't speak for everyone else, but I was cringing at the thought that we had called the wrong house, and with our accents, we were coming across as a really bad stereotype New Englanders may have of Southerners.

Finally, my mama spoke on behalf of the embarrassed rest of us and said, "We may have the wrong number."

"Are you calling for Jill?," the voice asked.

Thank GOD! Apparently, Banyan had answered, become confused and handed the phone to the nearest adult, one of Jill's houseguests.

Jill found this hysterically funny. So I told her about the flounder, ham and collards we'd just eaten, and she got homesick.