Thanksgiving

Sometimes one just doesn't need to meter out food with a measuring cup or look at food labels for information on fat grams. One of the finer days to ignore all dietary advice and eat to utter sickness is Thanksgiving. Right now, I sit with a kicking, complaining food baby in my belly that wants to come out, but I'm willing with all my power to keep in.

Today's dinner at my grandparents' consisted of the following dishes:

Stuffing, California-style, made with dried fruits, nuts, sourdough bread (from San Fran), and herbs. Healthy, filling, and guilt-free, this made up the lion's share of my plate.

Fried turkey, just a piece, to just prove that I'm not a vegetarian. Absolutely delicious.

Sweet potato casserole, with pecans and a crust of brown sugar. Sublime.

Mashed potatoes, of course, and heaping helpings of fruit salad to further fill the belly without succumbing to the temptation of multiple helpings of pie.

But, I did succumb to pie, just like I knew I would. I have a ravenous sweet tooth and I like nothing better than to finish a meal with something cavity-creating. I enjoyed (take that Frank Bruni!) a small slice of pumpkin pie, more sweet potato casserole, Linda's pumpkin-chocolate bread (in turkey form, no less), and some of Uncle Ted's birthday cake (happy 65th!).

Yes, it was all too much, but I'm not nearly as filled with guilt as I would have been if I had smothered everything in cheese, grease, or bacon. Tomorrow there will be mass consumption of leftovers and hopefully, a long hard run to work some of the calories off. I didn't bring my bike, so I've got to do something. Right?