Thanksgiving has never been one of my favorite holidays. I like the time off of work, the luxuriant feeling on Wednesday or, this year, Tuesday that there are several days ahead in which to let go a little. But the celebration itself leaves me underwhelmed. At least in the 1970s you could count on a good Cowboys-Redskins contest to speed digestion. Now the games are almost always irrelevant -- it doesn't help that the Lions are included in the day's offerings -- and the food seems less impressive than it once did. My eyes are shrinking, even if they're still bigger than my stomach. Still, I'm thankful for the time I was able to spend yesterday and today sitting by myself, whether writing or coloring. I'm not home much these days, so the opportunity to do my own thing without leaving the house first is welcome. And I'm extremely thankful that it rained for most of the day and, even better, that the rain alternated between huge drops pounding like drum beats and the lightest of mists. Part of me is even thankful for the diminishment of stress that came as a result of the fact that no one came to visit this year. That said, I wish I could be with more loved ones more often, whether across the country or closer to home.