The chicken soup is simmering in the pot.
No turkey this year.
No pumpkin pie either, though I am throwing together some paleo-ish pumpkin chocolate chip bread with almond flour and coconut oil. It's highly unlikely the caveman had Miracle Whip either, but in the name of all that's Holy, there will be deviled eggs.
We have made yet another trip around the sun, and embrace our first Thanksgiving alone. Out first in twenty-nine years.
Makes me think of the very first one we spent together. My fancy aunt was hosting the dinner that year, and insisted I bring my soldier boy-friend along. It was a perfect cool autumn day, the leaves were glorious, even in the city. We walked along the shops, holding hands. It's hard to imagine that I had puked in his combat boots the night before. Despite my inability to hold my liquor, he married me anyway.
Sorry. Not a very appetizing topic for feasting day. It is what it is.
The Paleo path hasn't left me wandering the woods for forage, like I first thought. My tummy and taste buds have been more than satisfied. No pain, or other things we will not mention at today's table,
encourage me to continue, to embrace this new thing. Not so new, considering its primal beginning.
Instead I am full of overwhelming gratefulness for the potential before me.
I laughed at my devotional this morning. You have not seen your best days. You have not reached your full potential. God has ingredients coming your way that will thrust you to a new level.
hahaha! Perfect. Joel always knows the right thing to say. If you know anything about me at all, I dream big. There are days Crohns tempts me to let loose, dreams drifting off into the horizon without me.
Not today, Crohns. No, not today.
I've been pretty weepy here of late. This is a good thing, as I have been slowly weaning off the Paxil and am finally able to feel emotion at the intensity of my empathic design. I've watched Buffalo Girls for two days straight. In a letter to her daughter, Calamity Jane writes these words, In them days Janey, there was only two ways for a woman to survive out west, wifin' and whorin'. Since I wasn't cut out for either one, I had to find my own way of surviving. So I lived like a man and sometimes passed myself off as one. It got kind of sticky at times, but it gave me a kind of freedom that few women ever knew.
Who cries at that line? ha! But, oh these words dig deep and I long for my own daughters/sons to grasp beyond those obligational man-made boxes and reach for those Big God dreams. Though I wasn't really cut out for wifin' or whorin' either, I find myself married to the most beautiful soul. Who gasps and pretends to blush when I throw out a Calamity word or two instead of tying me up to the oven with self-serving apron strings.
I am thankful he loves the Buffalo Girl in me.
Enjoy your day, you beautiful mangy varmints!
If you were looking for a softer Thanksgiving post, you can always wander over to last year's post.
(edit) The grain-free pumpkin bread was surprisingly good. The texture was excellent, though we could feel the grit from the coconut oil, this was still a positive. The sweetness was perfect using raw honey instead of refined sugar. It's a keeper.