Three years ago today, I woke up at 4:30am, grabbed a thermos full of hot coffee and headed into work. At the time, I was working as an apprentice to the head pastry chef at a private yacht club in my hometown and Thanksgiving was our busiest day of the year. If you’ve been reading my blog for three years you certainly remember my pastry school days! When I got into work that day, the kitchen was already active and alive. Stock pots were bubbling on the stove, vats of stuffing were already in the oven and my boss was already there, sticking what would be one of sixty pies, in the oven. For the next ten hours, I piped buttercream into whoopie pie after whoopie pie, baked dozens of loaves of rustic bread and put the finishing touches on what felt like a million pumpkin pies.
I remember driving the two hours home to have Thanksgiving dinner with my family, little did I know it would be the last Thanksgiving dinner we would ever have all together. When my brother was alive.
I haven’t been back home for Thanksgiving since then. After he died and after I moved to California I just wanted to stay. Going home was too hard and everything was still too real and raw. I remember hiking to the top of a mountain here in Sonoma on my first Thanksgiving alone and breaking down sobbing at the top.
This year, I’m thankful to be home.
I’m thankful for everything I’ve gone through in the past three years that has brought me to the place where I am now.
Three years ago writing a book was a bucket list item, something I never thought to accomplish until I was at least thirty. Today, I’m eagerly awaiting my publication date of next Fall (finally!) after working on my manuscript for what felt like an eternity.
I’m thankful for you. For every one of you who read my words, make my recipes and encourage me with your comments every single day. You’re the reason why I blog and I hope you know how thankful I am for you.