I spend this week the same way every year:  gathering my recipes, ordering my turkey and planning my shopping.  I love Thanksgiving. Growing up, I knew Thanksgiving officially started when my mother’s large, wooden bowl was stacked to overflowing with torn white bread (to sit out and grow stale, overnight, for stuffing).

Imagine waking up and not having food rule your thoughts.  Imagine not feeling guilty or filled with regret about your food choices.  Imagine not white-knuckling your way through a day because today is the day you will start being “good.” Imagine not fearing real food; wondering if a banana has too much sugar or if carbs are making you fat.  Imagine trusting that you can eat more than just chicken and salad. Imagine living a life free from dieting.

I grew up in a home where we had liver and onions every Friday.  Yep. My Mom, greeted with the joy you can imagine from a child faced with liver as their ONLY dinner choice, would exclaim, “Its good for your blood!”  That was my cue. Sit quietly, cut it up into small pieces, bury some of it in my potatoes, stash some in my napkin and move the rest around on my plate so it looked like I ate enough liver to be excused.   My Mom was always baffled by my dislike. She loved liver?!?