Happy Thanksgiving, everyone! This will be a short post, since I still have rolls in the oven and squash to warm up before we head out to Steve and Peggy’s for dinner, but I woke up thinking—as I should every day, but seldom take the time—of everything I’m thankful for.
I’m thankful for Tony and the kids, and for living here in western Maine, exactly where I’ve always wanted to live, and for the 45 years of friendship I’ve shared with Donna, and for all my other wonderful friends, and for a job I like and great coworkers, and for not being cold or hungry, and for a million other things, big and small.
But today I’m thinking a lot about my birth family, which has expanded over the years from a tight little group of five kids and a widowed mom, figuring out together how to take on the world, to an extended and riotous gang of about four dozen, counting original siblings, kids, step-kids, grandkids, step-grandkids, and grand-dogs.
Even though we live far apart, have busy lives, and don’t get together very often, even though we’re without our original matriarch, even though two of the original five siblings won’t be with us today, whenever I think about the family I was lucky enough to be born into and grow up with, I always feel surrounded by their love, and I always feel blessed.
Now, bring on the pie!
