the under belly

It's early Thanksgiving morning. Everywhere across the states people are readying their homes for the big meal; guests will be arriving, bottles of wine will be uncorked and good times will ensue.

I am cooking a bird for the first time. We have, (or had), more guests coming this year, I thought the big guns appropriate, especially since my kitchen is now suitable to even entertain such thoughts. 

While I'm not much of a cook, (trying hard to change that thinking), I do make a good Thanksgiving; perhaps my opportunity to give back and feel thankful, when this year I'm feeling anything but.

I am very grateful for my little family, for this life that M provides us and for the love we three share. It's all the photos and words of thanks that deluge the internets this time of year that make me feel sad, lonely, even a little anxious.

I've only just noted these feelings, usually attributing my mood this time of year to the noted and obvious stresses that arise during the holiday season.  

Now I see it's more than that.

Today, I plan to relish the little things. I'm going to throw on my sister's Star Wars apron and I'm going to watch bad TV along with the Thanksgiving Day parade while I prepare our feast. 

Because I'm also a curious beast, I'm hoping that last night's salad dressing fiasco is the only recipe that goes bunk. This happens when you try new recipes on a big meal with a house full of guests, which of course is why you're not supposed to...

I will drink champagne and I will put on pretty clothes, makeup too. I plan to pretend that the sad and lonely gossamer strings that cloak my maneuverings have slackened; permission to make room for light, peace, and calm.