Abby, dear Abby — first of all, Happy Thanksgiving!

You have given me such a fine gift today with your generous mention and helped me sail through what can sometimes be a tedious slog through all the work that the most overrated meal of the year entails.

All day I’ve been so pleased and half-silly because one of my favorite writers on Medium said a very nice thing about me — me! — and all day I’ve wanted to say very nice things to you. So, perhaps this public gushfest is inappropriate, but I don’t care — it’s Thanksgiving and I’ll do what I want (plus the champagne’s gone and the wine, too, and I’m feelin’ it).

Thank you so much, honestly, from the depths — you have touched me with your comment and your lovely giving of thanks. I have admired you from afar, too, for a very long time and would dearly love to have a conversation — let’s. You were one of the first writers I discovered here on Medium and I have followed you from the very beginning. You have a fierce talent and I have been touched and moved and mightily impressed often, reading your work.

There’s so much on your list that speaks to me. Hot water, always. Whimsy is a doll, should be a star, and may save you if you let her. I nurture my own Downton obsession (but don’t tell me a thing, I’m a season behind), the Newman/Woodward pic is absolutely everything (I’ve heard she once said that the secret to their long marriage was that he lived in Montana and she lived in New York, which somehow makes the whole thing even sexier), and coffee coffee coffee. I spent a lot of time in Maine when I was young and the coast is gorgeous and wild — and the lobster! And the blueberries! And, my amateur single malt opinion — Dalwhinnie is a beautiful, mild, glorious beverage in small quantities. From there, you approach the peat bog — through names like Oban and Talisker, until you get to Lagavulin, which is like sucking on a peat bog and not appealing at all, to me. You may be different, but I’m imagining that you’re not a ‘sucking on a peat bog’ kind of girl. To each her own, however.

Anyway, I hope you are well, I think of you often because I’ve read so much of you and you are, I think, the age of some of my children (mid 20’s, am I right?) so I’ve developed a sort of maternal concern for your story and your trials (is that weird? I’m sorry if that’s weird — it’s minor and well-intentioned. We really need to have that conversation). A brilliant shower of congratulations around your book(!) and your successes — keep writing, please, I will keep reading.

And, again, thank you so much for making this day of gratitude so full of happy stuff for me — your little message here has done lovely things today in my house. My eyes are crinkled and my heart is glad and you’ve reminded me of Dalwhinnie, thank you. I’ve recently discovered honey bourbon, but my kids are making fun of me so I suspect it’s not cool. But then, we drink what we want in Grey Gardens, don’t we?

Happy Thanksgiving, Abby. I’m open for conversations, any time.