Yesterday I enjoyed the first home-cooked Thanksgiving dinner I’ve had in many years. To be successfully single (which I like to think I am these days, having settled into a comfortable retirement) one must learn to let “the holidays” wash over the mind like the proverbial water off the proverbial duck’s back.
It helps to be a severe introvert. For us, holiday gatherings can be fraught, even vaguely threatening. Which makes a successful social outing like this metaphorical gravy. With actual gravy, in this case.
And the best part: Friday leftovers!
In a discussion a while back I mentioned in passing that humans sense wetness and time. That was challenged on the basis that we don’t sense time at all and — when it comes to wetness — sense only pressure and temperature. There is some truth to that. We don’t have an actual time sensor, nor do we have specific “wetness” sensors.
When I woke up this morning, it was 67 degrees in the house and 57 outside. (Fahrenheit, by the way.) Right now, I’m sitting here fighting the urge to turn on the furnace. Or at least put on some socks (I’m a barefoot boy unless I absolutely, positively must wear shoes; I rarely am stocking footed; shoes or nothing, preferably nothing).
Logos con carne 