Dearest ones, I'm afraid I've been neglecting you, but it's only so I can take care of myself, so I'm pretty sure you approve. At this time of year, I am usually a bundle of nerves (discreetly packaged under a cool exterior) as I quietly curse myself for biting off more than I can chew. But this year, this year of health coaching and Mindfulness-Based Stress Reduction, I achieved something resembling balance. Sometimes I am still very uncomfortable accomplishing less, but I am sitting still for that and letting it happen. And I feel better. I do. One thing I had to relinquish this year was the pop-up shop on my blog. (Sob.) I developed some very beautiful things, including a whole line of ceramics with my beloved and talented friend Mirena Kim, who is starting to get some of the attention she deserves. I also worked with spice wizard Lior Lev Sercarz on a custom blend just for Glutton for Life. But there's always next year, right? And, in the meantime, I'm going to be giving away some very choice items every week between now and Christmas. That makes this a great time to subscribe, if you haven't already, so you'll get an email alert when a new post goes up. (Sign up next to the little heart at the top of the page.)
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Gratitude is one of the many ways we can lift ourselves up. In my quest for greater inner peace, I have come upon this notion of giving thanks regularly and often. As the German theologian and mystic Meister Echkart says, "If the only prayer you ever say in your entire life is 'thank you,' it will be enough." So on a daily basis I try to say thanks for all the things I might otherwise take for granted: the clean air I breathe and the lungs that make it possible; the time to write and the hands with which I do it...start anywhere, the list is endless. I used to catalogue everything I had to do in a day first thing every morning. Sometimes it led to excitement, others to panic and despair. But it never brought me the same comfort and joy as when I lie in bed for a few moments upon waking and allow my mind to roam over all the blessings in my life. In this way, every day becomes Thanksgiving, at least for a little while.
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Stuffing. A topic as divisive as any discussion of religion or politics. You'll find it made with rice, with sourdough bread, with cornbread; studded with chestnuts, dried fruit and pecans; larded with sausage, oysters, gobs of butter. Some like it soft and steamed, emerging from the bird's cavity, while others insist on maximum crunch. It's a reflection of culture, tradition and personal preference, an opportunity for experimentation and self-expression. But, in the end, it's just stuffing. I make an alternate version with cornbread at our Thanksgiving so that my gluten-free husband can partake. In the past, I've added fresh cranberries, pecans and sausage for a sort of down-home version. This year, it's got the last kale from our garden and lots of chewy, flavorful mushrooms. Next year, who knows? Perhaps something with wild rice. And the beat goes on.
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Feast your eyes. Eat my words. Relish every day. I wrote these three phrases for a little promo I sent out for my blog some time back and they have stuck with me. I feel like they capture the spirit of it in a very succinct way. 

Can I tell you something? I'm a little sick of Thanksgiving already. Isn't that sad? The internet can do that to you. Suddenly everyone is yammering on about one topic. Which reminds me: you've got to read Dave Eggers' new novel, The Circle. We're actually listening to it, as read by the inimitable chameleon Dion Graham.

But I digress. I promised you a cranberry recipe and I will not let you down. In fact, I actually had a good time coming up with something rather unconventional. Yeah, I'm a bit of a rebel. I guess you know that by now. Or not. Anyway, read on to discover cranberry relish with outsider attitude.
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Dessert is polarizing. Love it as I do, I fully empathize with the naysayers. After a full meal, who really needs more? But some would say a meal is not truly complete without it. And, like it or not, desserts are cultural touchstones. What traditional festivity is properly concluded without some elaborate confection? A grand dessert is a flight of fantasy, a sensual voyage, an affair to remember. It's a fitting ending to the type of meal that includes multiple courses, fine wine, great conversation and lots of lingering. I hope your Thanksgiving is like that. But if not (if instead it's full of screaming children and sniping in-laws and overcooked turkey), there will always be an opportunity—after your tryptophan-induced nap—to submerge your sorrows in a slice of something sinful. Every once in a while there's got to be a little devil in Miss Jones.
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