The house is empty.
Not ten minutes ago, it was holding twelve tired, food-coma guests, gathered around a fire with a football game in the background.
Now, the only hint that they were here is the smell of after-dinner coffee, the hum of the dishwasher, and a few scattered candles that are still warm.
This afternoon we filled our home, we filled bellies, and I filled my cup. And although I do wish that cup had been filled with a glorious red wine, I instead filled my cup with love and laughter, just as I said I would yesterday.
This morning's race was a success. Greg and I pounded the pavement with 15,000 other hungry runners willing to work for their food, and I crossed the finish line smiling (and maybe even a little teary), grateful for my tired and sore hardworking legs, and my encouraging husband and cooperative son by my side.
The beautiful thing about this blog is that you probably knew this already. I've been able to share my gratitudes for the last three hundred and thirty-seven evenings.
Each experience of this year I am grateful for. Each fear, triumph, laugh, and tear. And I am forever grateful that I have been able to share it all with you. I am grateful for you.
Happy Thanksgiving, sweet reader. Cheers to you.
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