Post Thanksgiving

I fell off the bandwagon last week, blogging wise. Well, I'm back, for better or for worse.

How was your Thanksgiving?

Our turkey was a delectable homage to what a turkey can be if stuffed with apples, sage, and onions, if his skin is pulled from his breast and his flesh prodded with butter and garlic and a freshly ground spice rub, if indeed he is roasted slowly, breast down, then flipped and glazed with an apple reduction. This should have been enough to make me swoon but by the time I sat down to partake, I'd had a headache all day from telling the girls what and what not to do, and I was having a bit of trouble being grateful for anything. After dinner I lay down on the floor, lifted a limp hand to shove puzzle pieces across the floor to Beatrix from a catacomb of blankets. The turkey was a success (thanks to Martin). I was a Thanksgiving FAIL.

That night I lay in bed and searched my recent history to find just one kind thing that I had said to Elspeth. I came up empty. All day, and nothing but reprimands and grumpiness from me.

The next morning, however, I awakened renewed and determined to live the day better, and so I did. Elspeth and I got on like a house a fire all day, and I went to sleep much happier that evening. What is wrong with me sometimes? I can be such a cantankerous wench.

Our little Christmas tree winks from our sun room window, decorated with ornaments from around the world. We let the girls choose one new ornament every year from the Ten Thousand Villages store, and the "Elephant Tree" as I dubbed it for its preponderance of little Indian elephant ornaments, is a happy presence in our house.

I just taught my second and last class of the week, and as usually is the case, now that the semester is almost over, the students are open and easy with me and with each other. I should be conducting some interviews for columns but right now I'm happy to just sit for a while and contemplate magnetic poetry. Martin's mammoth metal desk has that one thing going for it: a big surface to craft some magnificent magnetic poetry. Here's my latest effort:

honeydrunk as a moon
some gift peaches
or white milk
but chanting spring
winds to winter moan
and dresses in bare sleep

Okay, the ending is a bit melodramatic. Indeed it is! But choices are limited, people.

Also, there are weird accidents that occur, such as the juxtaposition of these two words: boil mother.
or
vision friend
or
bitter afterpound,
which is what I am sporting postThanksgiving.

PS. To read a Thanksgiving reflection (around Tecumseh's prayer) in my weekly column, please click the geranium at right.