Now I’m too prompt. Today I cooked Thanksgiving Dinner, as such, for Matt and me. He’s back at his home and back at his job and he is happy. I invited a few waifs and strays but one has vowed never to go inside a home until the All Clear. Another has a place with her family (by train), and a third is driving out of town for a rural celebration. Lovely weather for that . So Matt and I were the waifs and strays.

I fussed over our dinner as if I were cooking for a dozen and and not just the two of us. I didn’t cook a whole turkey, just broiled a turkey breast (marinated overnight in white wine and oil, seasoned , and with my own fresh rosemary minced in). I made a mushroom risotto, and a sheet pan of sweet potato chunks and halved Brussels sprouts roasted in olive oil and maple syrup. I bought a pumpkin pie and shook a can of real whipped cream 20 times before I squirted the pie. Pretty easy but I’m tired.

I will probably never cook a turkey again.

Happy Thanksgiving Day.

NO exclamation mark—that would be faking it.

I’ve been blank for a week because I’ve been trying to write Thanksgiving notes to neglected people in my correspondent lists. Last year a friend with whom I do correspond regularly said she always dreaded the e-card, mass-produced and impersonal. (I do choose them very carefully from a wonderful assortment—bless Jacquie Lawson!)

This year I have been trying to write personal individual notes, which takes longer. The other day I succumbed and wrote a generic message and sent it early—not really Happy Thanksgiving but happy autumn. I received amazing, prompt replies! So to you few who may or may not be someone I know, I send a generic wish.

You see, I’m still here., and I hope you are too and will continue to be, for a while—who knows? For that we should be thankful.

This is no time to kvetch.