Thanksgiving Eve

Drip coffee in my cup with a thick swirl of eggnog this morning.  I just left the kitchen, talk of dreams and rejuvenation - or not- and better dreams with feet pointed west instead of east.  On this Thanksgiving Eve, our house is full and tomorrow it will swell to the brim with even more family.  Nothing makes me happier.  I said to my husband the other day, let's just skip giving each other Christmas gifts this year.  A slowed schedule with long mornings and hours spent cooking and baking with tunes and candlelight and the sound of my children and the geese is all I want.  And he said, but I'd like to give you something.

This time of year gets me worrying, especially about Theo and Sully.  An abundance of talk of the "wanting" variety when so many children have so little, if anything at all.  Their noses deep in the Target toy catalog with anticipation and, even worse, expectation.  I circle with talk of gratitude and the importance of appreciating what we have, and I might as well be on my hands and knees cleaning baseboards and dusting art.  They could care less.  And then I remind myself that I feel mostly good about what we model in our daily lives and how we live and what we're hopefully teaching them, even if they don't seem to notice on the surface.  They're kids.  I was once, too.  I'm sure I did the same thing, and anyway sometimes I want the "stuff" still, but the very best present is the presence of my family and dear friends, the comfort of our home, and a plot of dirt to call my own, bent over on hands and knees, earth to work, gratitude.

I walked my laptop to a sunny corner of the house for a sliver of quiet and glimpse of open sky.  It is here where I sit this morning before the cooking will begin.  My list of to-do's is long but I've long since understood when my need to write it out trumps all.  Like our current sleeping arrangements, it's been a while since I put my back to the east while the words string themselves along.  It feels wonderful this morning to switch it up.  Anais Nin said that life shrinks or expands in proportion to one's courage.  I keep thinking about that when I worry, too.  There's nothing courageous about changing rooms, but there is courage in changing direction. 

just write.


  1. Love this! "Courage in changing direction" - I need this as we are in the process of moving homes. The last few days I have been struggling with this as I love my current home and find so much comfort here - but my hope is our lives will be blessed by simplifying and changing. Thank you!

  2. Abundance. Yes. It is that time of year, oh that we could bury ourselves and ignore it. We have to find our own path through.

  3. Nodding my head through all of this. Just lovely.