On this Thanksgiving Day I awoke in my cozy bed, with my beautiful wife and two adorable, red, teacup poodles piled in beside me. The espresso maker seeks a single touch to yield creamy goodness in a cup. There is turkey with trimmings languishing in the refrigerator, made with love by others' hands this year since work interfered with any plan to host a holiday feast. The chilly air holds up a crystal blue sky while the sun casts its amber glow across the hillside; the copper roofs across the bay glint in the warming rays.
I am home.
I have a home.
"Grateful" doesn't begin to cover it.