I've been celebrating Thanksgiving here in Florida for five years now and every year is just as fun and eventful as the last. This year, the pomegranate martinis were better (and stronger) than the year before, and I am approximately two times drunker than last year, but I digress.
Still, every year, there is always something missing from every celebration that I can't really bring to the table. I miss the chilly nip in the air, the smell of the the autumn leaves piled on the ground, the whiff of the chimney smoke wafting into my nose, and the gorgeous pink flush in my cheeks after attempting to walk off dinner and two pieces of pie.
It's funny...after 22 years of bitching about the weather, having to rakes leaves and the hassle of heating the house, I really and truly miss it. They say home is where the heart is, and I've always considered Florida to be my home since my family and I moved five years ago. But what do they say when a small piece of your heart stays behind and never transplants itself in your new so-called home?
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