When I was little, my favorite day was Saturday. You see, Saturday afternoon the women in my family turned the entire house out of doors and cleaned as though it were a competition sport.
Being too young to help, I usually was sent off with dad to hike in the woods (in summer) or go look at holiday lights in the city or watch some sports event he wanted to see.
And then we came home, to a house that was sparkling clean, a (usually fairly spare on Saturdays) cooked dinner, and the consciousness that all work was done for a while.
When I got older and started participating in the cleaning, Saturday evening was even better. You had a sense everything that needed to be done was done, and you could take a break and just be.
I figure Thanksgiving partakes of the same feeling, the feeling of having worked hard and now having enough to see you through the winter ahead. It’s the feeling of harvest festivals in every culture, as far back as we can go.
I haven’t done everything, this year. The book still hangs half finished, mostly because of all the moves (!) and yesterday, between four appointments and hunsgiving at Pete’s Kitchen (I promise next year, if we’re all still here, and I’m not ill or something, we’ll plan this a month in advance. Until then, I’m considering a hunsdinner on the first tuesday starting in January. Mostly because sometimes I need to see people and not just their pixels.) nothing got written.
Fortunately today it’s just us and our friend Charles, and since we have company on Saturday and I need to do a real house cleaning by then, I’m not even going to really do a deep clean. (Charles knows our mess.) I’m just doing cat-vomit-cleaning which is a constant duty, and kitchen cleaning.
Right now, I confess I feel a great deal of lassitude. Not tiredness, precisely, just a feeling like I wouldn’t like to do much, probably the result of yesterday’s unusual exertions and people contact (which is why I need MORE people contact, of course.)
The family is (I think) still asleep, and I have some corn bread for stuffing in the oven. Later I’ll spatchock a turkey and set a bunch of side dishes in the crockpots.
Even though the book isn’t done (TRULY should be done this week, although I’m not as fast as I used to be, and probably won’t be till I get new glasses) this year has been one of several for lack of a better word, accomplishments.
My catalogue of gratefulness is so long, that I have no way of tagging all of it, so here’s a jumble of it, in short: I’m thankful we have a place to move, got fully moved in and that both boys are moved into situations they enjoy. I’m thankful I have you guys to see me through the worst times, when thing get wobbly. I’m thankful my mind is functioning again, and I can write again (more than I can say.) I’m thankful I have three more books under contract after this one is done. I’m thankful for my wonderful husband (always) and my two wonderful sons (always) and for number three son by adoption and his wife and two kids (Always, always.) I’m thankful my car is still with us, though hopefully we’ll buy me a “new” one from the delivery money for these books. I’m thankful that Dan has a decent job, which carried us when I couldn’t work at all. In these days, that’s no minor feat, and no minor thing to be grateful for. I’m thankful that I have colleagues and friends in my life, who make me feel like I’m not a freak of nature for what I do or what I think.I’m thankful Euclid-cat who is sixteen is looking pretty spry, still, even if getting a little skinny. I’m grateful derpfish is still with us, because if he had died right after Miranda, it would have sent me down the depressive spiral. I’m thankful that my issues with driving don’t seem to be psychological but physical. Expensive for two pairs of glasses, to be sure, but not as expensive as extensive psychotherapy.
Most of all, I’m thankful for the stories that come and fill my mind, and make me want to tell them. And I’m thankful other people like to read them. To be able to do what you love and get paid for it is the best gift of all.
And I promise in the next year you’ll have a lot more to love. (Be mindful that Amanda Green challenged me to a book a month, and I don’t mean to fall behind her production.)
Now go have your turkey and meet with your real life friends and family. See you here tomorrow, for more of our peculiar fun.