I’m sure I’d be writing something witty or poignant except that I can’t stop thinking about those artery-clogging potatoes in the oven.
I’m thankful for so much. Friends, family, readers, good books, music, walks up my small mountain, cranberry sage stuffing.
My cup truly runneth over, except for writing ideas, which I still have to claw from a big box of nothing I keep next to my blank screen.
Thought I might drag something out between stuffing the bird and stuffing myself, but I’d rather hang out with my loved ones.
And rescue the wine from the freezer.