The Thanksgiving that just happened was not what I envisioned. I will spare the gory details and just say that I am thankful for the two bottles of wine (Chardonnay for the morning, Merlot at night) and the long stretch of quiet I had with RunningHammer before the eight uninvited guests (which eventually turned in to 10) arrived too early.


Thanksgiving Day

Due to tiredness and chaos, Supervixen and I did not do any prep work the night before so I was up at 6 a.m. to toast six loaves of bread for stuffing. She came in to the bright kitchen a little squinty-eyed, thick multi-colored hair bed-rumpled, oversized sweatshirt and flannel jammie pants hanging just so off her unique and generous curves. She has no idea how beautiful she is.

"Why didn't you wake me?"

"You've got to work today. You need the sleep."

I slipped my arm around her narrow waist, pulled her to me a little tighter than I would normally on a chilly and dark November morning and gave her a firm wake-up kiss.

"Heavens," she said. "Your breath is horrible."

So I kissed her again.

She cracked open a Diet Coke and I began a pot of coffee. We got out the chef's knives and began. Four different types of peppers. Mushrooms, mushrooms, mushrooms (but, alas, no 'shrooms). The toast in to cubes. A few cups of onions. Hushed talk over the saute pan, the necessary closeness of comfy covered bodies providing a welcome inner warmth in our unheated home. RunningHammer called for us from his crib, and we dropped everything to get him.



I worked a half day, 7 to 1. TinyG watched SweetfaceBoy and RunningHammer. Vonda MaShone was off with TheDonor, his father, to spend the holiday weekend with white trash drunks. His clothes will need to be boiled when he returns.

RunningHammer dove for his crib at naptime. TG and SB went off to run errands and drive around in their secret grandmother-grandson universe. I read a page and a half of The Fellowship of the Ring before falling asleep.

RH called for me from his crib about an hour later. We put on shoes and went out front to kick the soccer ball and act goofy. Barren trees and dark rooftops hid the western sun, and I could smell the impending cold night. Some of my orchids, the flowering and budding ones, would have to come in. Except for his laughter, joyful shrieks and a howl when he took a spill, the neighborhood pulled the heavy blankets closer and remained still.

Perhaps it was the nap or recent Buddhist ruminations, but while trotting beside RH on the darkening sidewalk I understood that even if nothing works right, it still works. That's the way it is with families. I had never cooked an entire Thanksgiving dinner by myself (except for Supervixen's stuffing) let alone had every dish finished at the exact same time. So even if it was for boors I despise, that's something. Everyone loved it. Supervixen came home early and calmly ran interference.

So the dinner I really wanted happened a day later. It evolved in its own time with its own gentle intention: each of us travelling in our particular orbits, enjoying warmed-up leftovers at erratic intervals, content as the fire burned low, bundled under comforters, flowers and buds safe.