Happy Thanksgiving, all. I had a marvelous Thanksgiving all by myself. I was invited by many to go to many places, accepted one invitation and at the last minute, discovered we were supposed to go Wednesday night, not Thursday morning. I worked Wednesday night. Strangely enough, I was not at all sad about being unable to go with my friend to her family's house; I'd wanted to be alone to contemplate this extraordinary year. It has turned out to be a wonderful, gentle Thanksgiving. I had a turkey, which I'd bought a week ago and was going to cook up for leftovers anyway, so I roasted and stuffed that, ate some pie, which I'd made for the forthcoming feast, mashed some potatoes and whipped up delicious gravy. I did some drawing, embroidered as the turkey cooked, watched A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving and Planes, Trains & Automobiles, took the turkey out, ate like a pig, then laid in a triptophanic stupor as I watched the original Miracle on 34th Street. I lit candles to commemorate all the treasures in my life: my kids, my loved ones, this beautiful place I live in and the beloved roommate I live with, my memoir's soon-to-be-published status; all of it. One of the great things about having experienced some truly rough shit is, it makes you more aware of the good things. This year has been more than good. It has been glorious. I am the luckiest person alive right now. To have gone from a suicidal, pissy, miserable train wreck of a human being to this: a good, kind, fulfilled person. It's extraordinary that I can actually write such words to describe myself after so many years of self-hatred and depression. Who would have thought it? Who could have dreamt it? So today was the perfect Thanksgiving for me. I wandered about, snuggled on the couch, stitched silently, all the while my mind tripping the light fantastic inside my skull, remembering, remembering, oh, remembering all the things to be grateful for. I have spent this time, just quietly thankful, content, and happy. I smile as I write this. It has been a perfect day. Hard to believe, given how I've been for the majority of my life, that I could find such happiness with just me in the room. As I said, who could have dreamt it? Least of all me.