Tuesday, November 22, 2011


My feet leave impressions in the plush, shag carpet that covers the dining room and extends into the living room.  I'm jittery with excitement, running pell-mell through the house; weaving to and for half hopped up on sugar and the rest on sheer expectation of the meal to come.

Sure there is turkey, potatoes, and cranberry sauce, but as I peek over the table my eyes settle on the prize.  In the middle of the table they sit, black orbs piled high in gleaming glass bowls.  My eyes dart to the kitchen and then to the living room.  Peals of laughter and instructions to "do this" or "stir that" ring from the other room and I gingerly pick one up, positioning it just so on my left index finger; middle, ring, pinky, until all my fingers are decorated with the yummy-ness and I pop them into my mouth, one-by-one savoring the flavor--index, middle, ring, pinky.  Repeat.





This Thanksgiving I'm so thankful to watch my little ones do the same thing.

What's your relationship like as far as olives are concerned?
Love 'em?
Hate 'em?


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