Happy Thanksgiving!
Nov. 22nd, 2007 02:46 amA very happy Thanksgiving Day to any and all in the US who are reading my LJ, and to those on more distant shores who enjoy the greeting even though they celebrate some other day (if at all).
I have much to be thankful for this day, and I hope to spend it being mindful of that simple, wonderful fact. I'm looking forward to dinner with friends. Last year, I took a chocolate cabbage cake. This year, a salad. I'll make it in the morning. The usual greens, 'shrooms, cuke slices (with a fork scraped down the skin for the traditional decorative edge), grape tomatoes, scallions, some dried cranberries for zip and French fried onions for crunch. Most likely dressed with lime basil vinaigrette. Maybe some sliced strawberries, too.
And my own personal holiday tradition: pitted black olives. Big 'uns, so I can put them on my fingertips, wave 'em around, pop 'em in my mouth, and remember the joy of doing so as a child all over again!
Come, ye thankful people, come.
Raise the song of harvest home
All is safely gathered in
Ere the winter storms begin.
God, our maker doth provide
For our wants to be supplied
Come to God's own temple, come.
Raise the song of harvest home.
I have much to be thankful for this day, and I hope to spend it being mindful of that simple, wonderful fact. I'm looking forward to dinner with friends. Last year, I took a chocolate cabbage cake. This year, a salad. I'll make it in the morning. The usual greens, 'shrooms, cuke slices (with a fork scraped down the skin for the traditional decorative edge), grape tomatoes, scallions, some dried cranberries for zip and French fried onions for crunch. Most likely dressed with lime basil vinaigrette. Maybe some sliced strawberries, too.
And my own personal holiday tradition: pitted black olives. Big 'uns, so I can put them on my fingertips, wave 'em around, pop 'em in my mouth, and remember the joy of doing so as a child all over again!
Come, ye thankful people, come.
Raise the song of harvest home
All is safely gathered in
Ere the winter storms begin.
God, our maker doth provide
For our wants to be supplied
Come to God's own temple, come.
Raise the song of harvest home.