Thanksgiving is for dogs too

Written last night:

Dear Friends,

I dropped Zing off at Grateful Dog early and was amazed to see a Thanksgiving menu posted. Dog guests will eat turkey, green beans, cranberries — either as-is or mixed with dog food.

“That’s a joke, right?” I asked. 

“No,” was the answer. “We’re serious.” 

“But dogs don’t like green beans, do they?”

“Some do.”

It was all said with a smile, so I can’t be too hard on them. I mean, what do I know about dogs anyway? 

After that I went to the gym. I mean, my gym, the one in this building. Not Zing's gym. I am lucky to live in a place with a (small, but big enough for me) exercise room. Dogs aren’t allowed, so I haven’t been there lately.  I generally think of gyms as torture chambers, but lately I have to use a stationary bicycle since I can’t run anymore.

Back upstairs, I opened a box that was in yesterday’s mail. I couldn’t remember buying anything online. Did I actually click on that candle that I’d looked at? No! It was fat Christmas candle size, but so much better: a surprise jar of Tupelo honey from the family of Colin, who was a student of mine in Tallahassee. His mom told me that her father had pulled the honey himself. (I’m not sure what that means -- I think it's about pulling the honey from where the bees store it.) Tupelo honey depends on trees in a tiny part of swampy north Florida and South Georgia. It’s mild and never crystalizes. If you visit me very soon you might get a biscuit with a taste of my Tupelo. But hurry!

At noon I was able hear chamber music at that church down N Street across from the Capitol. Today’s program was organs — not my favorite. So triumphal. It reminds me of elephants. But I loved it anyway, just sitting there listening. 

I spent the rest of the day measuring drapes, preparing to shorten them a bit before the window professionals show up to hang the shades.

Love,

k

Tupelo Honey

Thanksgiving is for dogs too,
especially at Grateful Dog