Thanksgiving Eve
We did what was necessary before noon:
✓make cornbread for tomorrow’s dressing
✓prepare the cranberry sauce from scratch
✓pick up the cherry pie we ordered days ago.
The to-do list done left us with an afternoon
of leisurely lower-middle-class decadence.
If you don’t know how to do nothing then
you’ll probably never do something. So we
lounged with windows open to unseasonably
warm breezes and read purely for pleasure
only to drift off then wake minutes or so later
to finish the page we left or just decide to forget
about it because its not like God said you better
finish that book or else. Then, as the sun began
to yield, was Williams’ Cavatina on the easy
listening station limning our lives with a mixture of ineffable melancholy and gratitude for this, for such a rare and golden eve as this.
listening station limning our lives with a mixture of ineffable melancholy and gratitude for this, for such a rare and golden eve as this.
When my book comes out I’m sending you my chapter on Solitude.
Thanks, Lucille. Tell you what, when it comes out I’ll just buy the whole book, support a fellow writer – how’s that?
“limning”… now, there’s a word I’m thankful for…. = )
and for you too, John. Have a beautiful day with your family.
You too, Pat…you too.
Lovely, lovely. Our eve-day was not quite like this one, but maybe the day after will be. Hope springs eternal.
Diana, it was, as I said, rare. I pray such a rarity for you as well.
“ineffable melancholy and gratitude” …. love this. Perfectly captures what seems a paradox, but isn’t, because what we are grateful for so quickly slips away.