Whew, it’s over at last, the final guests left at ten-thirty. All I wanted to do was to crawl into my bed and sleep for hours… maybe eight or ten hours at least. Instead it’s a quarter to two and I’m wide awake.

Mutt and I made it slowly and painfully downstairs, where I enjoy a cup of coffee and wait for the bones to settle. I only wrapped the knees and ankles loosely because they’re still swollen from yesterday, I can’t really get them tight because it’ll cut off the circulation to the joints. As usual this time of year I think back and am thankful for all the good things that have happened to me. The doc’s were wrong about the wheelchair, for which I’ll be eternally grateful. I would rather be dead than live like that. My family is as always very much a part of my life, even though I rarely see them. But Julie and Mutt are really the ones that are my life. Sure I love her family like my own, but if I didn’t have Julie and Mutt I’m not sure I would survive.

Thanksgiving was a success by anyone’s measure. I overhead one of our guests saying to someone that “this was better than at John-François” – he owns a French restaurant in Antigua, and is very good. Paul eats out a lot, except for the occasional pizza and eating at one of the cookouts at our house, Tartines is his choice of dinning. Just being mentioned with the likes of John-François is a tremdous compliment.

Everyone had a good time, and enjoyed themselves quite a bit. For Jannicke, Catirania and the Guatemalans in attendance it was a new experience. For the ex-pats and Dale it was a reminder of home. Other than when Chris helped out, Julie and I prepared everything ourselves – from the bread and condiments to the pies, cakes and turkey.

It was worth getting up at 3 am and firing up the smoker.