So, I’m sitting here at the computer on a Sunday evening, looking back at the last four days, feeling pleasantly tired, and happy to be writing here.
This year’s Thanksgiving wasn’t the big bang-up festival like the kind we had in 2006. Instead, it was quiet and mild and made me feel grateful for all sorts of tiny and important things, like the good friends we have, and the beautiful blue skies when you least expect them in November, and being able to pull off a Thanksgiving meal with a broken oven, and having friends who make you want to get up the next morning and cook a whole new meal the day after Thanksgiving.
I’m grateful for being able to haul logs for hours with Michael and to be able to smile when we were finished at the good work we’d done. I’m grateful for a daughter who makes me laugh and who uses big words when small words would do. I’m grateful for the taste of turkey and cranberry sauce in a corn tortilla. I’m grateful for a sister who can cook like Julia Child and sing like Ethel Merman. I’m grateful that I can hear music on the stereo, and that I’m married to someone who loves listening even more than I do.
When I took the dog for a quick after-dinner walk this evening, it was very dark and the snow was falling. When I turned back to the house, the windows were glowing. Safe shelter. Warmth. Music. Books. People I love. A fridge full of leftovers. It’s not such a bad life.