If you’re reading this blog, and are alone or near alone for thanksgiving, come in, pull up a chair. You’re with family here. (Next year it might very well be just us.)
For those of you who worry about … well, about me, I actually have a lot to be thankful for this year. Not only am I at long last writing regularly again, but despite this sore throat thing, I am MILES better than I was even last year. Even two years ago walking out in the cold would give me an instant asthma attack, and last year I had to stop all the time to get my breath, if it was even mildly chilly. But yesterday I put on all my clothes (seriously, I looked like a walking mound of clothing) mostly because I was stir crazy from being inside. And I went out to get some exercise. To wit, I shoveled half the driveway.
My arms still hurt — news flash, snow is heavy — but despite the cold and the wind, I didn’t lose my breath and my asthma didn’t kick in.
Therefore, even though progress is slow (as it was for writing again) there is movement and it’s in the right direction. For this I’m thankful.
I’m also thankful for lovely DIL who has brought a lot of joy into our life, even when — particularly when — she bullies me into walking. 😉
And most of all now and always I’m thankful for my husband without whom I’m sure I wouldn’t be me, and I might never have written anything. I certainly wouldn’t be writing this blog, or expressing my opinions on anything. I won a big lottery when he decided he wanted to marry me, and even more when he stuck it out with the excitable Latina.
And I’m grateful for our sons who are decent human beings even when we don’t agree or clash and who are both hard workers and strivers. In their own way they’re both healthy and wise, and the wealthy — whatever they consider wealthy — can come later.
I’m even thankful for the cats, though one of them — Euclid — might not be with us long. You might also wish to keep Greebo, yes, my fuzzy editor, in your prayers. At 16, he was diagnosed with hyperthyroidism and is looking thin and seedy. He is of course unpillable and uncreamable (What you expected otherwise from the buzzsaw in fur?) so we’re going to get him bloody expensive radio iodine treatment in the hopes of keeping him with us another year or two. Because he’s absurdly loyal to me, and loyalty demands loyalty.
But most of all I’m thankful that the writing is flowing again. Fiction, I mean. For a while there it was a struggle, for various reasons.
A shortish novel, (but well into pulp novel size) Deep Pink will be coming out within the week (yes, I’ll announce it here) and Winter Prince, a space opera, the first novel set in what I call The Human Universe (Though Winter Prince is part of a series called Alien Seasons) will be coming out next month. Then sometime after that, hopefully Dyce. (Yes, it’s mostly written. Things just kept happening.)
May the next year bring us yet more blessings, even if sometimes they’re in disguise. Hold on tight to what you love, and celebrate the happiness in your lives.
Let us labor and work as hard as we can, so when the harvest is brought in it is a good one, and we’re rewarded as good and faithful workers.
And now, let’s eat.