Right - so if you were wondering, the pumpkin bread did not happen. Why, you might ask? Because the latest issue of Southern Living convinced me otherwise. There was a recipe in there for grits biscuits and the true Southron that I am came out and overrode any notions to the contrary, including the making of pumpkin bread.

So while humming "Bonny Blue Flag," I stirred my grits, revelling in the soft plup-plupping sound that only grits can make. I added the milk and the Bisquick and what have you and then baked these lovely treats.

I am not a baker.

So they came out looking rather like scones - but still filled with grits goodness. Now referring to them as the culinary sensation "Grits Scones," and packing them up with a jar of marmalade, I headed off for the Thanksgiving adventure in Williamsburg.

Folks actually ate them - though I suspect more out of politeness than anything. But Jim liked them for real, so I guess that's what counts. The rats, on the other hand, tossed their proffered grits scone aside and proceeded to have a high-pitched fight over the maple syrup corn muffins that Jim made.

Fickle rodents.

So really - that's all. Had a wonderful time with the family which is all one ever wants at Thanksgiving, really. There was no emergency root canal this year, no tipping over into my grandmother-in-law, no having to wear stays while eating a four course meal. Jim didn't have to go to the emergency room and no one cut their toe off.

Let us hope the holidays continue to be so kind to us.