Like every other red-blooded American, I got an Instant Pot for Christmas. The Instant Pot — a new-fashioned pressure cooker — was last year’s hot toy for grownups.
Y’all, I can’t even. The New York Times has printed the word … I can’t even say it. Rhymes with “pitmole.” The closest I can come to saying that word in print is “s—hole.”
On the first day of December, I started off the morning at Anniston High School with a performance of “The Nutcracker” ballet for area schoolkids. Every year, Knox Concert Series invites hundreds of third-graders to see the ballet for free.
Among my many fond memories of Thanksgivings past are my mother’s cornbread dressing, my aunt’s monkey bread, my cousins and I fighting over the wishbone, and the panicked look in my eyes if I was ever asked to say grace.