We are recovering, deep in a Thanksgiving-hangover, brought on from yesterday’s influx of tofurkey, tiny rolls, mashed potatoes and the usual fare. Everyone is slugging this morning, even my parents who are supermodel exercise robots, even my brother who (with my mother) ran a nine mile race yesterday– and they both cut their times from last year. This slow start to (what will eventually become) a productive day has been defined by the sipping of coffee, the watching of various infomercials, and my father’s rediscovery of this gem.




About bearicaquinn

Smallish, smushy in the sad parts, certainly destined for cat-lady-dom. Enjoys boats, bikes, black coffee, pug faces, sourdough bread, the morning when you have slept long enough, beards, mountainsides, art, rooftops, etc. Will continue to live in things that are interestingly shaped. So octopus.
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