constance | (25) Thanksgiving

It's such an odd holiday, isn't it? A harvest festival in these days when we ship our harvests all over the world and therefore don't have to worry so much about local bounty or lack thereof may seem kind of redundant, but I'm glad we've kept at it regardless. I love getting a day or two off to hang out with family, to cook and eat dishes that I don't eat at any other time of year (I mean, I would, on account of oyster dressing and sweet potatoes roasted with thyme and red pepper are awesome, but somehow it only happens the once per year), love going home and walking the dogs and taking a long nap and waking up knowing that I've still got three days of leisure left, and leftovers, turkey sandwiches and turkey-and-andouille gumbo, to look forward to, still.

Here's something that's not at all cool, though: I seem to've lost my taste for deviled eggs (a former desert island favorite) at some point. Today, when I saw the tray sitting on the counter, the eggs looked so horrifyingly, glisteningly white, smelled so sulfurous and nauseating, that I didn't want them anywhere near me. What's up with that, universe?