The day is over but not the thanks. Fortunate enough to be a guest at the table of best friends and that precious circle of extended family, I brought my assigned contribution, took up my position at the counter, kibitzing with the turkey carver and sampling whatever tidbits he dropped in front of me. It’s a ritual perfectly suited to me.
Everyone had taken up their positions and the meal came together ready to be plated and carried to the table. We’ve perfected this orchestration across many years. The decibels of chatter reduced as mouths were filled with all the components that comprised the feast for this annual special day.
I had plenty of time to consider that my brother spent his day alone with the Thanksgiving dinner he prepared himself for himself. He never roasted a turkey and all its fixings before. He was content. Had I known earlier that he’d be by himself, I might have changed my plans and trekked the 10 hours to his house in the little town of Mehoopany. You can get through the town before you finish saying its name. He sent me a photo of his full plate. Looked pretty good. I called him later and he told me all about it. I wasn’t worried; he’s a very good cook.
At my own location we pulled out talents for the cleanup and then spent considerable time catching up with each other. My goddaughter is pregnant with twins, and doing well. We considered that next year’s Thanksgiving we’ll be multiplied by two more, and will spend much time keeping busy rescuing the Christmas tree from seven month old babies creeping toward the lights. There will be easily a dozen grownups available to monitor them. Kiss and cuddle them. Rock them. Sing to them. Snuggle. I know the time will fly and it will be this time next year, but still it is hard to wait. Good grief. I’ve hardly digested my enormous meal, and thinking about the next time we’re all together for Thanksgiving.
Before I am ready, Christmas will be here, but before it arrives I’ll have some time with my beloved daughter, who will trip out here from Philadelphia to spend a few days with Mama. We’ll just hang out and enjoy each other and hope snow holds off until she gets back home.
For now, I’m just chilling and planning to send out more queries after the new year, since literary agents are minimally accessible across the holiday season. I must remind myself these are just people like everyone else, put their pants on one leg at a time, have families, celebrate holidays and push back from their desks, cook dinner for family and friends and put off decisions.
It’s lunch time. Best get to it. Did my lit work for the day, organizing the first and second steps to build the lyrical essay. Building the blocks that will eventually tell me what my heart wrote.