it's december. it's been a flurry of hazy memories. we went. he died. he did. they did. she did it. we went again. we're twenty-seven. we four and dog.
what have i done, i ask, to deserve such unbounded goodness? such kindness and generous joys? it's a bit late for thanksgiving, which slipped by in work and travel and meetings and deadlines. but it's not late for thanksgiving, to God who gives good things to enjoy.
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