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The only bad thing about not cooking for Thanksgiving is that we don't have any leftovers. I'm jonesin for some reheated stuffing for breakfast. With gravy.

Had no computer all weekend, which was nice, but I didn't get to write about how lovely our Thanksgiving was. I flew in from London on Wednesday night, crashed in Boston (as in slept, not as in assume emergency landing positions) and then took the first Cape Air puddle jumper over to Ptown. Thursday was Springtacular ... so nice in fact that we spent an hour and a half on the beach, sitting around a fire and drinking mulled cider.

Dinner was a seven-hour festival of food, wine and laughs. Our hosts are retired music teachers, so in between courses we were treated to piano and song. Nothing like hearing Old Cape Cod, while you're there, and waiting for the apple and blueberry pies to come out of the oven. I *am* fond of sand dunes and salty air.

The rest of the weekend was all about doing nothing. The wind was howling louder than Whitney with an empty crack pipe, and I pretty much rode the tryptophan train under a blanket on the sofa watching all sorts of ridiculous tv. Perfect.

Added bonus was meeting the Joeys. Two lovely boys (from just down the street here in NY) that are friends of the music teachers. They rode up with L on Wednesday and then back with us on Sunday. They're cute, sweet, funny and seem to bring good traffic karma. Yay ... new friends to play with.

So we're officially in the holiday season. I'm back in London (and Frankfurt) next week, Toronto next weekend for L's family holiday hootenanny, in Cincinnati on the 25th for a long Christmas weekend (and to wish my *older* sister a happy 40th birthday), then back to the Cape for New Years.

I'm exhausted just thinking about it.