Bounty Thanksgiving morning, about 25 years ago, I attended the traditional service, with my dad, in the historic church, where George Washington had once been a vestryman and where my children grew up and occasionally played hide and seek amongst the revolutionary gravestones. Dad was then about the age I am now and an enthusiastic but tone-deaf singer. We’d left Mother at home with the turkey and child-watching duties.   I was so happy to escape some of the food preparation