Hello, gentle readers!
It is Sunday afternoon as I write this
(I’m trying really hard to get back on schedule) and my house is redolent with
the aroma of dinner simmering on the stove. I’m making a good, old fashioned
Yankee Pot Roast, complete with mashed potatoes, gravy and caramelized carrots
and onions. It’s my grandmother’s recipe (she related the recipe to me over the
phone a very long time ago—we’re talking decades here—after I completely
botched my first attempt). It’s comfort food. A family favorite. One of the
dishes I do well.
I am not the world’s best cook. I’m not
the world’s worst cook, either. I make mostly simple meals that are filling and
satisfying (I do make a spaghetti sauce with meatballs and sausage that will
knock your socks off). Thankfully, no one has ever become sick or died from my
cooking, but I have made a couple dishes that even the dog wouldn’t touch. On
those occasions, my DH told me in the kindest, most diplomatic, way possible “Please
don’t make this again.”
Why am I telling you this? Well,
Thanksgiving is coming up. This is, by far, my favorite holiday. I love roasted
turkey with all the trimmings. And I go all out. Deviled eggs (my own recipe).
Spinach dip (Knorr’s recipe). Cheesecake (Grandma’s recipe again). Pumpkin Pie
(my aunt’s recipe).

Happy Thanksgiving all!
Remember:
spread kindness wherever you go.
Marie
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