#NewThisDay Writing From My Photo Stream

. . . Blessings on these things and more:
the rivers and the houses full of light,
the bitter weeds that taste like sun,
dirt-sweetened spuds,
the hard bright pebbles, spongy mosses,
lifting of our bodies into whiffs of cloud,
all sleep-warm pillows in the break of dawn.

~ Excerpt from “Blessings,” by Jay Parini

I wake to the sounds of heavy rain, outside, and, inside, in the kitchen, wafting up the stairs into my groggy chamber, dishes clanking, glasses clinking. The dishwasher being loaded from the sink. It’s 6:00 a.m. my alarm keeps bleeping. I must get up to get the turkeys out of the brine and into the oven. I must get up now. How nice, I think, that Frank is cleaning the sink from last night’s leftover dishes before he leaves for his morning meeting. I must get up. Last night, before leaving, my baby brother, (he’s no baby any more) told me he couldn’t come early to help me, after all, with the turkeys he brined. Because he has a breakfast meeting. So, I must get up now. Down the stairs, I wobble with exhaustion, and I will hug Frank and thank him. This is our Thanksgiving Day. Because my sister is here with her son from Seattle and wanted a siblings Thanksgiving early. But, who is in my kitchen? Not my husband, but my baby brother! He has been awake since 4:00 a.m., he couldn’t sleep, so he drove here early. Truly, it’s Thanksgiving. We work side by side, prepping the turkeys, making the plan. Cutting the rutabaga into chunks to boil and mash. Remembering our mother, our father. I ask for the story about mom falling into Dad’s pig pen on the farm in Maine when he was seven or so when the pigs trampled her and he had to jump into the pen and rescue her, and how she swore. One of the turkeys, the biggest one, goes in. And we slither toward a sort of political discussion and we exist on different poles; we back away from the heat. Let us not spoil this morning with trying to agree on issues like immigration. And we break from our prep. He leaves and I put on my hiking boots and hat, and splash out into the soggy morning with the dogs. On a busy day like this, I will need this time, this pleasure, this wander. We go the long way, and get soaked very pleasantly. The rest of the day, a happy blur of arrivals and set up and cooking and stuffing making and welcoming and the turkeys are done in time and gorgeously brown and tender. I let my brother carve them. The five of us here, all together. And our children and our spouses and nephews and nieces of all sizes. I snap once. It’s a very short one, and silly. And hardly noticed. Thirty people are heartily fed. It’s a buffet, this time, not a sit down. And I think, well, how to give a toast? And I let the toast slide. Then, after dinner, before dessert, the youngest, mine, comes and says, before dessert, you must gather everyone in the dining room and do the toast. She’s so right. This one, she knows what’s best. So, I stand on a dining room chair and say the litany of gratitudes. I truly feel these gratitudes, I am tired, and happily so. I am so grateful we all want to gather together in this house. I miss my parents. And the pies and the cookies are delicious. And the house stays full for the Patriot’s Game and, before I get my third or fourth wind of the day, I take a sweet nap by the fire with the family cheerfully grateful for this day we have given each other. There are so many ways we could be broken, or we could have stayed broken after we broke. Here is something, unbreakable. I cannot see it. And I believe it.