The Late Arrival

It's the last day of the year, and as I peruse the pages, the hours of each of the 364 days, I realize that I am hungry. Given, if you compare pictures of New Year's Eve Me 2016 to 2017's New Year's Eve Me, you'd be wondering how in the name of all that's holy, can I be hungry. But I am hungry.  And I'm realizing this 2017's lingering hunger is a manifestation of inward starvation. This past year, there's been so much that's starved me: everything from a dads dying -- DYING-- on social media, to grown children whose parents didn't live to see this day, to the unspeakable anguish of friends who have buried children. Then there were the DudeBros chanting Jews will not replace us , to a crowd being plowed over by a car that ultimately resulted in the death of a mother's baby . Then there's the horror of a President who won't call evil for what it is. And then sometimes -- a lot of times -- I've felt broken by folks who ca...

There were no recipes. No measuring spoons. Just a mish-mash of ingredients that went in the stuff. We used our senses: did the veggie pile look like another celery stalk should be added; did the dressing feel too mushy when you stirred it; could the sweet potato pie use a little more vanilla when you tasted it? The heat, the stirring, the tastes of my childhood Thanksgiving followed me into adulthood. And then I got married. Of all the things people tell you about marriage, the thing they don't tell you is about Thanksgiving -- or more specifically -- Pumpkin Pie v Sweet Potato Pie. My husband and I can handle the black/white thing. We can handle the financial thing. We can even handle the division of labor thing. But Pumpkin Pie v Sweet Potato Pie? That's another matter entirely. Our first Thanksgiving, we found ourselves in the midst of an escalating war of the pies. Him: Um...why don't you have pumpkin pie written down on the Thanksgiving menu? We always ...