Thanksgiving. And time.

Well, dear friends, I am back from Florida.

It was hard to leave.

And not just because I was turning in beaches and sun and sand and sunsets for freezing temperatures and snow.


I had to say goodbye to these sweet faces too.

I’m getting sentimental in my old age. Thanksgiving makes me all gooey with nostalgia.

The boat ride we’ve made a thousand times.

My brother still making the Christmas Card photo session impossible.

Mom, yet again, cooking the perfect bird.

I don’t mean to brag, but we had the best Thanksgiving ever. Every year, we eat with old family friends, the Spencers, and this year, we added another family we’ve known forever and ever, the Bassetts. I’m doubly lucky because the eldest Bassett Peter married my cousin/best friend Meghan, and they brought their four-month old son, Gunnar.

I couldn’t stop thinking: aren’t we the luckiest?

The tradition was in full effect, with Ed’s fine wines flowing in abundance.

And each of us writing what we’re thankful for on a colored feather to add to the turkey.

Construction paper turkey with our Thanksgiving musings pictured here.

Plus, we had Gunnar. The cutest baby of all time.

Doesn’t this face just melt your heart?

There was a sing along to The Circle of Life. And then, dancing…


Also, this happened.
Surfin’ USA was playing!
In Florida, we’re all within walking distance. People would pop by for a glass of wine, a walk, a chat. You know those times when you are acutely aware of how happy you are? Doing something that’s nothing–like playing bocce or Smashball or just sitting around after the sun’s gone down–that’s really everything?

Or eating ice cream.

Maddy’s blissful anticipation of this bite just makes me smile.

I’ve been thinking a lot about time.

Bingo is one of Boca Grande’s hottest nightlife activities.

About how I’m two years older than my mom was when she flew to Boca for the first time with me, six months old, in her arms.

Look at Pat’s concentration. So heavy he can barely sit up.

About how even though our parents still refer to us as “the kids,” we’re really not anymore.

Dancing to the Boca Bande: my dad’s favorite Thanksgiving tradition.

It’s crazy how the years add up.

Please note hippie right behind me and Dan.

Dan and I had dinner with another couple on Friday and we talked about this–time, that is. She said when we’re kids we’re anticipating growing up, and so time stretches out and feels so long, like we’ll never get there. Once we’re grown, we ache for it to slow down, to remain where we are, and thus, it feels too fast.

He said that if all our days are the same, time races by. If we do things–adventures big or small–if something major happens–a big move, a life event–time slows down.

Indeed, Dan asked me if I felt like this year had gone fast. I told him no. Last Christmas seems ages ago. This year was full of new things–a new landscape, new adventures… a new life.

Sometimes I wish there was a sunset that lasted forever. Where we would sit on our beach chairs, with a glass of my dad’s cheap chardonnay and listen to him tell us it was most definitely a green flash kind of night, and watch as the sun just hovered there, the earth refusing to turn.

One thought on “Thanksgiving. And time.

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