“That was just such a traumatic transition, not havin’ Mama at home anymore,” I told Cheyenne, continuing the story.
I’m not sure what happened to my closely guarded diet during these recent holidays, but I won’t ask.
“It really was the night they Drove Ol’ Dixie Down,” I said to Cheyenne, with a grimace, referring to our 1970s hit song on Pee Wee’s radio on the way home that July evening.
Thanksgiving is always my favorite time because the focus of Thanksgiving is food.
Nobody loves food more than I do. I am always anxious for our Thanksgiving dinner to come.
Welcome to Thanksgiving edition of our Front-Porch Gospel.
You won’t mind if we take a break from our 1973 life story for a week.
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