Taking a break from creating turkey leftover cuisine. Today, a big, thick turkey vegetable soup simmers on the stove top. Christmas music is on in the living room, our favorite CD, St Martin's in the Field, something we picked up in London about 15 years ago. We stick to the tradition of no Christmas anything until after Thanksgiving. I hauled out a few things today since I'm here alone with the cats, Richard's off at a rehearsal. It feels good. I feel slightly under the weather, probably just post Thanksgiving weariness. Waiting for the local snowmobile club to come and put up their ropes and signs and reflectors on a piece of our upper property which the state snowmobile trail traverses. We give our permission every year. I'm still a bit on the fence about it. Some riders used to disobey the signs and go all over our property, but lately all has been well. And they keep the path well tended as it winds through our woods, so a year at a time, and this year, why not? We had our first snowfall last night, just about an inch, but a nice coverlet for the trees, the tops of the grass still sticking through, like Walt Whitman's hair of graves. It's a bittersweet sight, the snow. The trees look like they're sleeping now, all tucked in. We're definitely in for the long haul of winter weather (knock on wood.) I went for a walk last night - well, it was barely 4:30 or 5, but already dark. I refused to stay inside so early. There was an inviting bite to the air, a few flakes dancing down, lovely. So I donned my fleece, put on my reflector vest, my camping head lamp strapped loosely to my winter cap, and I trekked off into the wind and whoosh. Not many cars or trucks, just me and the trees, watching over me, my friends.
Oh. "Lo, How A Rose E'er Blooming" just came on, one of my favorite Christmas Carols. It fits the day, my mood. I'm a sucker for those carols with joy sung in a minor key. It includes everything of life in it, sadness and joy right alongside one another always, always, always.
Chores done, soup on a low simmer, cats all decked out in slumber around the house. I'll just carry some wood up from the cellar, stoke the fire, fill the woodpile, and then maybe take a little snooze. Not bad, not bad at all.
Thanksgiving was fine this year, by the way. A good group of friends filled with terrific conversation, substantial, hearty, talking of the challenges of our times and sussing out possible solutions and change, never dwelling on the problem, not fixed, never black and white, embracing all. Very nourishing this Thanksgiving on all levels. It was still hard taking some of our birds to the processor. Rough. My buddhist hair stylist cracked herself up wishing me a Happy Thanksgiving on Wednesday after a trim. "Enjoy your murder," she said, guffawing. "Sorry, I just couldn't help myself." Buddhists! You know I love 'em!
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