Candied Yams, Family, and Freedom

This Thanksgiving I am thankful for my family, the small miracles that remind us what it means to be alive, and Bill Parcells. (After Parcells led the Cowboys to a 7-2 record, I put him in my will for my gnocchi press. It makes the best gnocchi: fat, juicy and delicious. But I digress).

I love this time of year. For the thirty or so days leading up to Thanksgiving I spend tortured nights dreaming about enormous turkeys, candied yams and the soft, sweet taste of raisin cake. When I'm not getting dragged into the undertow of these sensual food cravings, I also pause to appreciate the pleasures that the people in my life bring. Like the fact that my mother has about 20 different smiles, and each one still brings comfort to my world. Or the inexpressible joy of seeing my family gathered together for the holidays. Or the great big belly laugh I get every year when I watch crimson colored cranberry sauce dripping down my brother Kent's chin. (We kid because we love.) For the opportunity to share some time with my loved ones, I am grateful.

This Thanksgiving, however, several of our troops will be stationed far away from home. They will not be able to sit down and celebrate Thanksgiving with their families.

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