It is right to give you thanks and praise--all of you lovely people I know and have known and will know in the days and weeks and hours and years, GW, to come. So, thanks for that.
My fingers hover over the keys like the marker on a Ouija Board, hoping they will fly unbidden over the letters and numbers and answer the questions I pose. Give us a little sugar to sweeten the prosaic, spice up the blandness of uncertainty, show us the way and the hope and the light. Preferable outcomes to unleashing the hounds of hell as the door between worlds is carelessly left open. Not sure though how this will all pan out, which I suppose is the point.
This holiday once meant Pilgrims and placecards, unzipping fine china and pouring ice water into clean clear goblets, seeing for believing that Santa Claus had come to town. Safe as houses, surrounded en famille, and ah, the desserts.
Then there was the Thanksgiving I ran away from home after the wine had turned the proceedings sour, the year that in all probability changed how everything was from that moment forward. A small act of rebellion to be sure. How grateful I was for it. How silly to think how terrible it was looked upon at the time. How funny to skip ahead a few years and recall the ultimate in pretense, surrounded by those who had loved me since I entered this world but knew next to nothing about my plans. Awkward.
Different tables, different faces, different brands of dinner rolls would follow. A curious lack of recall shadows some of these events. Last year there was no table and it wasn't the worst. It just....was.
I am not old but I am not young. I am not presiding over a polished board of fare but I am not seated at the kiddie table in the scullery either. I am not ungrateful but I am not overbrimming with thankfulness.
What I am is hungry. Grazie.
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