So much to be thankful for this Thanksgiving. So few words to write it in. Yet, I shall try … I’m thankful that the turkey defrosted in time — Thank you, thank you, thank you … As the Thanksgiving cook in my family, I spend literally months worrying about this. The nightmares begin in September. I leap out of bed in the middle of the night drenched in sweat screaming, “It’s time to take the turkey out of the freezer! I have to take the turkey out of the freezer!”

For some wild and unexplainable reason I agreed to go. Even though I pledged I never would. That it wasn’t important to me. That you could drop wild badgers down my shorts and I would still resist. Then a friend sent an email. It started out, “Alright guys it has been 20 years,” and went on to say he wanted to get “the crew back together.” The venue? Tampa Prep’s 20th high school reunion for the class of 1991.

I went to dinner the other night with my mother and daughter. As most of these occasions turn out, I was the babysitter. Telling them both to keep their voices down. Not to color on the table. Asking if they had gone to the bathroom since lunch, or if they needed to wash their hands. Generally playing the peacemaker. “Mom, I’ve told you, do not argue with a 5-year-old … especially when you’re wrong.”