A few weeks ago, we spent a few days in NYC (our first visit in years!).

The holiday decorations were going up, Central Park was a dreamy late-fall landscape with a distinctly European feel, and I loved noting all the Art Deco details throughout the city (the doors, the signs, the tree grates).

The Holiday Market was in full swing in Bryant Park (side note: have you seen Something From Tiffany's? A great feel-good holiday movie set in NYC) and we saw at least three ice skating rinks and too many hot chocolate stands to count.

There's something magical about New York at Christmas and I found myself caught up in the sights and sounds, the wonder of it all (a little like Buddy and Jovie's date in NYC from my favorite holiday movie Elf).

This month marks the 50th anniversary of the classic TV special A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving.

Synopsis: Peppermint Patty invites herself and a few friends to Charlie Brown's house for Thanksgiving dinner. The only problem is Charlie Brown can't cook. Still wanting to be a good host, Linus and Snoopy step in to help and together, they serve an unconventional feast of jelly beans, popcorn, pretzels, and toast and learn that maybe Thanksgiving is not about the turkey and mashed potatoes after all.

Maybe you grew up reading the Peanuts in the newspaper or watching the animated shows on TV. Maybe you had a favorite character (Snoopy!) or learned Vince Guaraldi's "O Tannenbaum" on the piano to entertain guests at holiday parties.

“If you're just tuning in, you might be surprised by the score,” the announcer said as the players jogged off the field at Sanford Stadium at halftime.

He was right. 14-3, University of South Carolina vs. No. 1 University of Georgia.

Those of us watching, in person or at home, were surely thinking the same thing: What's happening? Can Georgia turn this around in the second half?

Lately, I’ve been thinking about what it means to be rooted in community.

There are the neighborly hellos on our morning walk: Lucy weeding in the garden, Amy walking Peter to school, Tony tending to his dahlias, and Darren walking Buster, the 11-year-old Golden Retriever.

But it’s those moments when you stop to talk—to ask how someone is doing, how you can help—that the roots of community grow a little deeper.

It was a late-summer afternoon in Georgia and we were buckled in the backseat of our red Astro van on our way to piano lessons.

As we pulled out of the driveway, my mother announced that today, I would navigate us to the piano teacher's house, turn by turn.

I felt my cheeks flush as panic set in. "But I don't know how to get there!" I said, my tone escalating. "We're going to be late!" (Yes, this was me, even at the age of eight.)

During our first year as homeowners, we planted a vegetable garden.

The previous owner had installed a brick-paver patio near the garage, so we dug up some of the tiles, created four beds, mixed in bags of mushroom compost, and planted 6-packs of cherry tomatoes, Romas, and heirloom varieties.

We watered diligently and tied up the stalks as they grew, harvesting a colander of tomatoes every few days during peak harvest and making batches of my Dad's Sicilian sauce on the weekends. 🍝

Most of you know that, though I live in New York State, I'm originally from Georgia.

With that comes a love of grits, gummy peach rings, and collard greens; an occasional Southern accent (it came out the other day on the word tailor); and a deep appreciation for time spent rocking on the porch.

Also, a discerning palette for cheese straws.

For those of you who aren't familiar, a cheese straw* is a homemade cheese cracker or biscuit, made with a cookie press or cut into rectangles and marked with the back of a fork. They are typically orange in color, buttery, and sometimes a touch spicy with the addition of a pinch of cayenne pepper.

Have you seen the graphic about the different stages of Spring?

There's Fool's Spring, Second Winter, Spring of Deception, Third Winter, Mud Season, then Actual Spring.

Here in New York, I think we're in the Spring of Deception. I fall for it every year.