Margie brought over some homemade chicken soup last night.

I want everyone to sit back for a second and ponder that. I just did.

Someone not of my legal family went through the effort of making soup stock, cutting up the veggies, the massive hunks of chicken (when you have a piece of chicken on your spoon, it’s ALL that will fit), and then hand-delivered it right in time for supper.

Carrots pieces the size of the boy’s thumb, and I already mentioned the chicken. Good, warm broth, and the pot of it was big enough for all three of us to have seconds last night, today, and tonight.

I’m really a very lucky guy. I forget about that sometimes.

I have a lot to be thankful for. Some of you reading this know that, and some of you reading this are part of the reason why.

Thanks Margie.