I started a fire…in the kitchen…the day before Thanksgiving. Needless to say, I make a terrible Southern woman.

In my defense, the culprit was a candle that got caught flirting with disaster: a nearby roll of paper towels.

Luckily, not more than 10 seconds after the spark, the corner of my eye detected the liminal flame. In that moment, there was no hesitation: I grabbed the entire metal holder, sprinted out of our back door, and launched the fire as far from our home as possible.

My children – a captured audience – stood sheltered behind the jungle gym, crying.

And this is how Thanksgiving 2016 began.

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One Year Ago: Monsoon Togetherness