A Little Thanks

Some years ago, I opened my soul to a person I had thought of as a very good friend: “At the very first sense of chill in the evening air, the very first whisper of Autumn, do you find yourself harried by creativity and driven to start making things – jams? Ornaments? Quilts? Gifts? Stained glass stars?”

She looked at me like I was nuts. Like, once again I had exposed myself as the weirdest person on the planet. “No,” she said. That was probably the moment when I should have figured we were not meant for each other.

Because that was me. Is me—except for the last few years when there was so much going on in the family, I didn’t know what day it was, much less what season. But when I went to visit Gin this year, there she was—my very own old self—poring over The Magazines: Better Homes, Martha Stewart. I had to join her—and my fingers immediately started itching.

Typical Better Homes charm—so simple, so elegant, so takes actual thought.

Typically I am turned on big time by pictures of projects but subsequently cured by reading the instructions. If the obsession persists even after I’ve read the ingredient lists for the unusual and classy dishes (5 pounds of rhubarb, cardamom, the cups of organic sun dried brown sugar peas) then my first effort to actually reproduce the elegant or funky whatever pretty much throws Gatorade over the whole affair.

More Better Homes suggestions: get a subscription—it’ll haunt your dreams

The family table as I wish it were.  Crate and Barrel—I wonder what the shipping is on this whole deal?

This year, I was seduced by a picture of a pumpkin chocolate cheesecake. After some consideration, Chaz and I settled on making the rutabaga, parsnip, leek gratin instead—and the pumpkin bread pudding for Thanksgiving. And we actually did make one of them (I still have the stuff for the pudding – just haven’t had time). It was especially important to me this year to have a beautiful and bounteous Thanksgiving table because my dad was coming. My mom, now in full time care, could not be here, but Dad wanted to be with us, so I was having the whole northern family at my table: us, my brother, his kids, my kids and dad. A very big deal.

Our table.  No deer.  Just family.

Low light, but high satisfaction: the turkey meister checking on the hungry hordes.

It’s lovely when other people bring food. It’s lovely to have children who come from their homes bearing children and pies and candied yams (especially when it was the son who hates yams like poison who made the things). And there is nothing so sweet as having family laughing at your table, no hitches, no old grudges, no over-sensitive over-reactions. Just laughing and talking and sharing the Great Meal. I love Thanksgiving. It is not as glitzy and holly draped a season as the one that follows. But it is full of love and gratitude and thanks to a God who, I believe, is very anxious to bless.

Scoot’s first Thanksgiving: discovering the stained glass shade over the table.

My boy and his baby – complete harmony and silliness.  And total love.

Grandpa Mike singing Jimmy Buffet and helping The Princess play along.  Funny he’d choose that guitar, the no-name nylon string I’ve had since I was in high school – Mom bought it from some guy named Benny at the back door of a secret guitar warehouse.  Almost as old as Mike is.

Maniacal Uncle

The lovely niece

Four generations

My dad – you can see the humor, wry as it is.

The grandmother and Scoot, communing.

It is so nice to be able to feed my father, and to offer him our best.

I say here to all of those I wish had been able to share the table: thank you for what you would have brought to it. I am honored and blessed to know you. And may God bless you always.

Now, here we are in that twilight time when the corn shocks are still on the porch while the tree is lit up in the house.  Neither here nor there, but everywhere, bless us.  Ready for colored lights against snow.

Last note:

ONE DAUGHTER: for sale

Whereas L. refers to her grandchild as The Princess, the child offered here is the Sorceress Queen, the Angel at the Gate, the Fierce Guardian of Truth, or maybe just Prince Phillip.  She is bright as a whip, independent, resourceful, capable, willful and creative.  Also wild, fierce, stubborn as the rest of her father’s family and musical.  All those who apply must understand: any man taking her on as partner will give up even the illusion of ascendance.  She is no kids’ horse, and she will not pull anybody else’s wagon.  Purchaser must be intelligent, good natured, easy going, eager to find his equal, willing to lose at video games, anxiously involved in his own life, determined, fierce about his priesthood, honest and ready for an eventful life.

Applications taken in the comments section.  No international bids.