Always Thanksgiving

The morning is already breathtaking. The horizon is turning amber, trees are silhouetted black, a raven cuts across the sky. First cup of tea, empty. Some preparations are already done for the holiday, some still need doing today. Baking, prep cooking, table setting.

This.

I’m not sure what this afternoon will bring, what tomorrow will hold, but I know that I’m here, all in, making, giving, nourishing. And I’m grateful. When I look back, our road has been full of both goodness and hardship, of triumph and loss. Relationships, family that was once there, now gone. People who we thought would never leave, have.

But, there’s us. And there’s always Thanksgiving.

Within hours, our eldest guy will roll down the driveway, a long way from college for a few precious days. Nellie will recognize him and meet him at the door with a wagging tail and a mouthful of socks. We’ll hug him, bring him in, and just want to look at him and listen to him, minds blown that he’s close enough to reach out and touch.

Our middle guy will be going and coming, part of an equation of mud, dirt bikes, boys. You can imagine. I can imagine. This is him, in his element. Anything that has a motor, that has gears and power and go, is him. Cars, dirt bikes, boats, airplanes. Earth, water, air. And if there’s something wrong with one of them, he probably knows how to fix it. This guy will slide into the house later mud-covered, possibly bruised, possibly limping, but also smile-covered and ready to do it all over again - fist pumping the long weekend ahead.

The youngest guy, who is currently trying to decide between becoming an architect or a landscape architect when he sets out for college in three years, who is tracking which companies to invest in with next summer’s job money, who just this week made the choir’s bass section, will be scarce around here, except for tomorrow’s big dinner. He’ll be off caring for the pets and house of friends, bachelor-style. And loving every minute of it (maybe because of the treats always left for him in the kitchen cupboards?).

This is us. Here, together.

There’s beauty. There’s rich hope in this life. There are new memories waiting to be written.

And there’s always Thanksgiving.

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Wishing you, dear ones, who come here to read, to share, to encourage and to help, the best of Thanksgivings with those you love.