When I was a kid we had green shag carpeting, a cast iron wood-burning stove, and a little teeny kid-sized red rocking chair that was mine, all mine, at leas until I grew out of it.  I used to sit in front of that stove in my rocking chair in the winters, bundled up in the afghan my grandma made me. I would spread a quilt across my lap and rock slowly, slowly, saying, "I'm old, I'm cold, and I'm tired."

I must have been around five years old at the time. Thanks to Brohawk for sparking the memory. 

Also: there will be a dozen people in our tiny apartment for Thanksgiving this year. Holy shit! This will be the first time we've hosted anything on that scale since we moved to Boston, and I feel shocked and grateful that we "suddenly" (it feels strangely sudden to me) know enough people out here to populate a full-fledged Family Holiday. We're having a couple of Olden Besties from Salt Lake coming up from New York on Thursday, plus our new friends here who we really really like, plus a couple of virtual strangers, which is how it should be for Thanksgiving, given the history of the occasion and whatnot. This is my favorite goddamn holiday, I tell you. I'm in my element.