I've returned from two weeks teaching in Italy, at a beautiful farm that I return to with students each year. Check it out at www.spannocchia.com. A slice of heaven in Tuscany.
From there we flew directly to the Miami Book Fair, a favorite event of mine. I always see writers I adore and admire, fans, and old friends who gather for food and drink every year.
Our return landed us squarely in Thanksgiving prep. 25 friends and family graced my home, including Sam and his friends, Michael's son, Annabelle and Gogo...so much to be thankful for this year. We ate and drank for four days, playing games into the night and eating turkey in every possible iteration: confit, sandwiches, tetrazzini, and of course as the Thanksgiving bird.
I love Thanksgiving, more than Christmas or any other holiday because it brings family together with the single purpose of eating and sharing. It never disappoints.
This year has brought great joy in my life--the continued bond and love of my kids, Gogo at 86, good friends and family, and of course marrying Michael and all the wonderful joy we have shared every single day.
My purpose in writing here is never to vent politically or to air my dirty laundry. It's to share recipes and knitting, books and writing, happiness and the lifelong struggle with grief. But this year has also proven to have some surprising and hurtful personal challenges, and though I resist detailing them I will say that I've been unpleasantly surprised and deeply hurt. Every day has presented the challenge of me rising above some pretty terrible stuff, and I think I'm mostly able to do that. Thanksgiving this year has inspired me to look past old hurts and despicable behavior and focus on this new phase of my life, which is richer and fuller and happier. That's much more than a holiday should have to deliver, but this one did, and I am even more grateful.
I hope your Thanksgiving gave you love and warmth and too much turkey and that the empty seats at your table brought good memories rather than aching.
That other holiday looms, and I'm busily hiding gifts already and trying to decide what kind of tree I can get that won't tempt Hermia and Gertrude to knock it over. I'm busily knitting too--dishrags and mitts--and busily writing and teaching. And loving. Lots and lots of that.
From there we flew directly to the Miami Book Fair, a favorite event of mine. I always see writers I adore and admire, fans, and old friends who gather for food and drink every year.
Our return landed us squarely in Thanksgiving prep. 25 friends and family graced my home, including Sam and his friends, Michael's son, Annabelle and Gogo...so much to be thankful for this year. We ate and drank for four days, playing games into the night and eating turkey in every possible iteration: confit, sandwiches, tetrazzini, and of course as the Thanksgiving bird.
I love Thanksgiving, more than Christmas or any other holiday because it brings family together with the single purpose of eating and sharing. It never disappoints.
This year has brought great joy in my life--the continued bond and love of my kids, Gogo at 86, good friends and family, and of course marrying Michael and all the wonderful joy we have shared every single day.
My purpose in writing here is never to vent politically or to air my dirty laundry. It's to share recipes and knitting, books and writing, happiness and the lifelong struggle with grief. But this year has also proven to have some surprising and hurtful personal challenges, and though I resist detailing them I will say that I've been unpleasantly surprised and deeply hurt. Every day has presented the challenge of me rising above some pretty terrible stuff, and I think I'm mostly able to do that. Thanksgiving this year has inspired me to look past old hurts and despicable behavior and focus on this new phase of my life, which is richer and fuller and happier. That's much more than a holiday should have to deliver, but this one did, and I am even more grateful.
I hope your Thanksgiving gave you love and warmth and too much turkey and that the empty seats at your table brought good memories rather than aching.
That other holiday looms, and I'm busily hiding gifts already and trying to decide what kind of tree I can get that won't tempt Hermia and Gertrude to knock it over. I'm busily knitting too--dishrags and mitts--and busily writing and teaching. And loving. Lots and lots of that.
