In honor of Thanksgiving I'm sharing this poem by Mary Oliver. A printed copy of this poem has been riding on my refrigerator door for several years now.
My days are all full of visiting and turkey talk and menu planning, with small bits of design work and carpooling thrown in the mix. If I don't make it back before Thursday to wish you the happiest of Thanksgiving days, know I am thinking of you all and listing my blog friends among all of life's gifts. I am so thankful that I decided to stick my toes in the blogging waters and that you are all here, walking the shoreline with me. Thank you for reading, writing, dropping me notes, and being by my side.
~
There are a lot of words meaning thanks.
Some you can only whisper.
Others you can only sing.
The peewee whistles instead.
The snake turns in circles,
The beaver slaps his tail
on the surface of the pond.
The deer in the pinewoods stamps his hoof.
Goldfinches shine as they float through the air.
A person, sometimes, will hum a little Mahler.
Or put arms around old oak tree.
Or take out lovely pencil and notebook to find a few
touching, kissing words.
- Mary Oliver
This weekend was just what the doctor ordered. I got lots of R&R and whipped that nasty cold into submission. I'm feeling nearly 100% and rearing to get busy plotting and planning for Thanksgiving. Just a little over a week to go, folks!
This year's Thanksgiving Day Players:
~ Me - the chef (although Gary gets the turkey in the pan because I really hate to touch raw meat)
~ Gary - Guitar strummer, football watcher, turkey slicer
~ Emma & Kate - Macy's Parade watchers, lounge-abouts, chat-n-munch duo
~ My mother - arriving from Texas in just two days. Assistant chef. Crazy laundress (as post-traumatic stress from having 6 kids she is constantly doing laundry. She will wash any swatch of cloth she encounters, short of yanking the clothes off your body)
~ My mother-in-law - lives in town, pie-maker
~ My sister - flying in from New Hampshire . . . and
~ Her boyfriend
Yippee! Bring it on.
I've always loved Thanksgiving. The parade, the day spent fussing around in the kitchen, the mashed potatoes, the pumpkin pie, the family, football announcers, laying on the floor like a lump after dinner.
Plus, I had ancestors on the Mayflower so I kinda like to think of myself as a true pilgrim . . . deep down. A soap-making, embroidering, reading-by-candlelight kind of pilgrim.
Of course anyone who knows me knows that I would have made a terrible pilgrim. I think I would've complained a lot and needed quite a few naps. The long, cold winters spent milking a cow, hand washing laundry with lye and schlepping chamber pots outside would've put me right over the edge. I would've either died of exhaustion, starvation (from refusing to eat the salted meat from the barrel) or the other villagers would've taken me on a long walk and "accidentally lost" me in the woods.
Lucky for me I don't need to test my pilgiming skills. I just need to make a dinner and eat an excessive amount. Now THAT, I can do.
For now I'm trying desperately to hold Christmas at bay until the last of the leftovers have been stacked in the fridge and the dishwasher is running. It seems such a shame to overlook the holiday of "giving thanks."
That said, I have a tiny confession (you know I love to confess) I found myself listening to a little Christmas music while I worked today. I love Christmas music with all my heart — Bing, Nat, Ella, Frank, Glenn Miller . . . I can't get enough of that stuff!
Hope your Monday's been groovy. As always, I soooo appreciate you dropping in. It means a lot to me.
