I am still blorked down in a lovely turkey left-over fat stupor. It's a strange thing, the satisfaction and joy that comes from holiday feasting. My mind turns to Dickens, and the Ghost of Christmas Present, surrounded with all the bounty and gifts of plenty. That's what's so beautiful about it: the gift of plenty. I sit here, typing away, with a warm cup of chamomile tea beside me, my tummy comfortably full of turkey, and I am grateful for it all. The warm tea, the full belly, the worn out and buttery soft flannel pajamas I'm wearing. What a lucky and beautiful thing, to have plenty. I think I sometimes forget that, and sometimes forget to do that: be grateful. I bitch and whine and snarl displeasure when I'm stressed, when I'm busy, when I'm pissed off. Thanksgiving is a wonderful holiday to remind us of the fact that, on the whole, we have plenty. With the world crashing and spinning around us, this graceful and often overlooked holiday is a welcome break from the chaos, a time to sit back, let the triptophane kick in, and turn into a couch potato, if only for a little while. A lovely time to be fat and sassy, laid back and replete, a human horn of plenty. Thanks for reading my blog, thanks for all the well wishes, and thanks for thoughts of pumpkin pie turned reality. I love Thanksgiving and its glorious left over weekend. Now it's time to lie down again and watch some holiday corniness, all with a big satisfied grin on my face.
Love, R
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