The Thanksgiving table is already set. There are pies on the kitchen island. In the fridge there are casserole dishes filled with "sweet potato surprise" and stuffing. A friend is driving for three hours to get here, and other friends from down the street are coming too. A friend that I wish could be here just had a knee replacement and is in the hospital. Family is far away because we've all come to our senses about travel on Thanksgiving weekend. Two years ago I tried to drive to my son's house the Friday before Thanksgiving. Everyone in southern California, it seemed, was leaving for an early start on the holiday. It took eight or nine hours to get as far as Indio which should be a three hour drive. I got a motel and continued on the next day.
Sweet potato surprise is a a recipe from one of Molly Kaizen's cookbooks. You can assemble it a day ahead, and if I recall, guests swooned over it when I made it some years back. I hope I'm remembering that correctly. It's good for a guessing game anyway. Do I taste apples? Ginger? Really? There are bananas in here? The stuffing is even more fun. I never make it quite the same way twice. This year I bought a completely different kind of sausage from the farmer's market. We'll see. Love is the secret ingredient in everything, that's all I know.
Across the country my daughters and their partners will be having their own Thanksgiving in the duplex they bought together. Maybe next year I'll be having Thanksgiving with them. Life is full of surprises. That would be a sweet one. One thing is for sure--this is my last Thanksgiving in this house here by the water in a state that I used to think of as paradise. The word paradise now conjures a town that was obliterated by one of California's latest fires, and in that bereft place ghosts of loved ones will visit tables that have turned to ash.
Since Dan died four and a half years ago I open my eyes thankful each morning, amazed to be breathing. Breath is such a simple thing until you've watched it leave the body. In these post-apocalyptic fire days, that feeling of being alive flattens me to the mattress for a minute when I open my eyes to find myself still here. I've read that people get happier as they get older. Maybe that's what's happening. I'll be 66 on Saturday. That's a nice amount of happiness. Happiness ends, I guess, when we stop breathing, so for now I'm breathing in happiness and breathing out love. I wish that for you too.
5 comments:
Thank you, Denise. I wish it for all of us.
May there be joy at your table today.
Have a lovely day and I hope you keep writing even if you do move to the other side of the country.
And happy early birthday:)
I’m sad to lose you from our beautiful state. But I get it. Happy day to you!
Beautiful writing, Denise, and I thank you for it. Your posts make me feel so close to you, and I read every one. I hope to see you this year, as you finalize the stuff in St. Paul. I always love you, and thanks for the insight about the joy of breath. It transforms for me the shakiness of feeling time go so fast. Be well, and happy birthday, dear friend.
Happy belated birthday! I rarely comment but always read your blog. Best wishes on your upcoming move. Sometimes a change is needed; I am recently divorced and although it was by far the best thing I've ever done, some things (financial!) are absolutely terrifying. But onward we go, to better things.♥
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