Have you ever tasted a memory? I did. Tonight. My husband and I went out for dinner, and when I took the first bite of my chicken and noodles with mashed potatoes--don’t tell Colleen, because she thinks I was starting my diet today--I tasted a memory.

It was like I was transported back to our family kitchen where my husband and I and our two kids were eating chicken and noodles, one of our family favorites. I guess it’s no surprise that the meal conjured up such a memory, but what surprised me was the emotion that came with it.

Sitting in the comfort of the Amish restaurant with the man I have loved for over thirty years, I was once again filled with a rush of overwhelming thankfulness--for this man I married, for our daughter, son and four granddaughters.

Oh, it’s true that since our children have grown and moved away, my husband and I are like a couple of dating teenagers--only now we can stay out as late as we want. J But there’s also no denying that once in a while my thoughts turn all Ma Walton-ish and I have to see my kids again, hug them once more, let them know for the hundred millionth time that I love them.

So tomorrow we’re headed up to Michigan to see our son and his family. We’ll stay all night, go to church with them, have lunch together, then head back home and visit our daughter and her family. And by the time my head hits the pillow on Sunday night I will be reminded once again of my many blessings.

For crying out loud, I think all this family Christmas music is really getting to me . . . .