JACOB ZIMMER | contributing photographer		JACOB ZIMMER | contributing photographer

I had intended to spend Thanksgiving alone. A quiet day of grateful introspection sounded perfect to me.

But to my pal Craig Stevenson, my plan reeked of loneliness. He knows the truth: I’m a closet introvert. Give me a microphone or a column, and I’ll dish my heart out. Offer me a bit of free time, and I’m more likely to spend it at home with my three dogs, ignoring the phone.

Lesson 1: Everyone needs a friend who’s unafraid to call our bluff.
“No way, Angelina Freaking Fentonia,” Craig said. “You’re spending the day with me.”

I hemmed and hawed, but you don’t say “no” when Craig puts his Gucci-heeled foot down – particularly when Mr. Good Times feels a rare charitable itch.

“I want to do something, I don’t know, nice for someone else, or whatever,” Craig said.

I didn’t want to spend the holiday alone anyway (did I?). And suddenly here was a chance to share with Craig the value of giving from the heart in addition to opening up our checkbooks. 

Count me in.

And thus began plans for Operation Thanksgiving.

Craig would arrange the party; I’d tend to the philanthropy. Our mission? Combine family, food, fellowship and fun in an 18-stop, 12-hour Turkey Day marathon.

Lesson 2: Sometimes you just have to roll with it.
Shortly after 8:30 Thanksgiving morning, I met Craig, our friend Matt Weber and photographer Jacob Zimmer at 21c Museum Hotel. The 21c Pip Mobile – and Rusch, our chauffeur – awaited. The 1995 Lincoln Towne Car is a bedazzling beauty of sparkling glass beads created by Louisville artist Mary Mahoney. Art, it is; discreet, it is not.

JACOB ZIMMER | contributing photographer Steve Wilson and Laura Lee Brown donated the use of the 21c Pip Mobile.

Steve Wilson co-owns 21c with his wife, Laura Lee Brown. When he heard about Operation Thanksgiving, he graciously offered use of the ruby-red limo. Craig readily accepted. “That’s the way I roll, AFF,” he quipped.

I was grateful for Steve’s kind gesture, but let’s be real: Who delivers meals to housebound seniors and formerly homeless families while being chauffeured about? Yet after discussing the logistics – none of us had a vehicle large enough to carry us all – we accepted the offer. This was indeed the way we’d roll, and well before the end of the day, not a one of us would regret it. I’m positive Steve knew we’d come to that conclusion all along.

Once in the Pip Mobile, I passed out copies of our itinerary. In black and white, the 18 stops seemed beyond adventurous.

We rode, anxious and excited, to the East End home of Rick and Mary Sue Chapman. There the Chapman and Vanetti family allowed us to join them for a fabulous breakfast, then sent us on our way with well-wishes and two large coolers for our next stop, Masterson’s Restaurant.

After sheepishly climbing out of the limo – as other volunteers stared – we headed in to meet the Louisville Metro Senior Nutrition Program staff. Paul Jolly, the program’s aptly named volunteer coordinator, was all smiles as we handed him our coolers, which were packed with wonderfully aromatic food. Paul gave us a map to the eight Shawnee-area homes we were to visit, and off we went.

Lesson 3: Take time to reflect.
Before we arrived at our first stop, I took a mental snapshot. Matt was eager and ready. Jacob, a Hurricane Katrina survivor, was prepared once again to give to those in need. Craig had pulled into himself, arms crossed over his chest, a serious look on his face.

For a second, I felt protective. This was Craig “Best Dressed” Stevenson, life of the party, king of one-liners, the friend who always knows what to do or say. Except for right now. Craig was unsure and out of his element.

“You take the lead, AFF,” he said.

I promised I would, feeling a bit like my mother must have years ago.

Mom raised five kids on a nurse’s salary. Although money was tight, she sat us down at the dining room table once a month to decide, as a family, where to donate 10 percent of her earnings.

Mom also took us to visit homebound seniors and deliver gifts to the kids she cared for at the hospital. I told Craig she used to help me and my siblings feel more at ease with these experiences by reminding us that we just might provide the only caring touch or kind word a person had received in a long while.

With that in mind, we walked up to the first house. The encounter was easy, friendly and fast. So were the next two. Then we knocked on the door of Ms. Inez Petty.

Lesson 4: “You never lose a good deed.”
As soon as Ms. Petty saw us, she burst into smiles and beckoned us in. I didn’t have to tell Craig that this was the ultimate exchange of giving. He knew immediately and visibly relaxed.

Twenty minutes later, we were still standing in Ms. Petty’s kitchen as she regaled us with gratitude, wisdom and one-liners.

“I’m so happy you’re here! I’m just so thankful to you and Meals on Wheels,” the 82-year-old woman enthused, hugging each of us before we headed out the front door. “Now don’t get locked up,” she joked, “because I don’t have the money to bail you out.”

Next came Ms. Etta Crenshaw and her Chihuahua, Precious. She invited us in and we chatted about health, gratitude and the good eats Craig and Matt held in their hands.

“Put that food down right there,” Ms. Crenshaw said, pointing to a chair in the front room. “Stop meddling, Precious. That’s for me, not you. I tell her all the time to stop meddling in other people’s business. … Oh, I’m so happy!”

So were we.

Two more visits and then our final meal delivery, stop No. 10. Ms. Cecilia Roach, 99 years young, opened the front door with a smile we could see from the street. She looked at the pomegranate-colored Pip mobile, shook her head and laughed like we’d just brought the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade to her doorstep. “I can’t believe it!” she said.

In a flurry of motion, she welcomed us into her home (and remained standing for the entire 20 minute visit).

“You never lose a good deed,” she said, peering at all of us standing in her living room. “It always comes back to you.”

Ms. Roach, who was a Meals on Wheels volunteer 30 years ago, promised she’d still be here next year, God willing, to celebrate her 100th birthday. God willing, we’ll be there too.

Lesson 5: Make people feel like they matter. 
We headed downtown to pick up Samantha, a spunky single mother I met a couple of years ago when she was living at an area shelter. Samantha nearly swooned when we pulled up outside her apartment.

“I don’t know what to say. Oh my, oh my,” she said, as we strapped in the baby seat for 20-month-old, Aaliyah, and 4-year-old, Chris. I’d previously arranged to give Samantha a lift to the home where she and the kids would spend the day. I’d just neglected to mention it would be a stylin’ ride and include gifts and a crew of companions. “It’s like we’re stars or something,” she said.

When the car stopped, I lifted Aaliyah from her seat and stepped onto the sidewalk. She giggled and wrapped her arms around my neck before reaching for her beaming mom.

Back in the limo, we were a quintet of smiles, Rusch’s grin visible in the rearview mirror as he pulled away from the curb.

Lesson 6: Give thanks. 
After a quick stop at Craig’s Glassworks loft to drop off Matt and change into dress clothes, we headed to Beecher Terrace to see Sholonda and her kids. The family captured my heart a few years ago when, prior to having a home of their own, they were approached by a homeless man who asked for money, and Tyrone gave him what little change he had in his pocket. I couldn’t wait to introduce them to the Operation Thanksgiving crew.

JACOB ZIMMER | contributing photographer Angie Fenton, Craig Stevenson and Matt Weber on one of their Thanksgiving deliveries.

When we pulled up, I called Sholonda. She literally came running when she saw the limo.

“Oh, Ms. Angie, Ms. Angie!” she cried, hugging me tightly. “What did you all do? What did you do?” Sholonda, her sons, Terry and Tyrone, daughter Latrice, and their friend, Daniel, hopped in. They cracked up when an acquaintance dropped his jaw and the basketball he was holding when we pulled onto the street.

After a short ride, Sholonda invited us inside to sample Tyrone’s apple upside down corn cake. Craig and I handed over a little bundle of gifts and were rewarded with a round of hugs and handshakes.

Lesson 7: Eat, drink and be merry.
After 14 stops, all of us were ready to unwind and eat. We did just that at the home of Judge Angela McCormick Bisig, where she and her family warmly welcomed us. After a divine dinner, family poetry reading and bourbon slushies, we headed to Churchill Downs to catch the final race of the day. Our attempt to watch a bit of football was thwarted when we discovered the new Molly Malone’s wasn’t open yet, so we opted for cocktails and conversation with Matt, our earlier companion, and the family members gathered at his mother’s home.

Stop No. 18, the Hurstbourne-area residence of Danny and Sherry Bouchillon, was the perfect final destination. The family, including Andrea and Blaine Grant, welcomed our motley crew like we were kin, serving us homemade hot browns and passing around elementary school photos of Craig.

Lesson 8: Enjoy the experience. 
On the ride back to 21c, we marveled at how we’d made 18 stops in 12 hours and, as crazy as it sounds, never felt like we were rushed. Somehow, we’d been able to stick to our schedule, and we hadn’t checked off the experiences like tasks on a to-do list. We’d enjoyed them – really enjoyed them – one at a time.

“Anyone want to go out and celebrate?” asked Craig, when we pulled up to the hotel. Jacob and Rusch declined; I gave him a pathetic, tired smile. Craig knew I was heading home to my dogs and had already turned off my phone.