My quiet, orderly life was upended from start to end of the Thanksgiving holiday, and I loved every minute of it. I had the privilege of hosting the kid's house, and it reminded me of the good ol' days.
I had ten people staying here. These days, the 'kids' range in age from my granddaughter at ten, to Kate, in her mid-thirties, and everywhere in between. (I told my brother and his new wife that they had to get a hotel, mostly because I wanted her to still be speaking to us at the end of the weekend. I figured twelve people and one shower was too much to ask of anyone who hadn't grown up with our family. I'm pretty sure I was right...)
Kate had taken the week off and came in last Sunday. We were able to just hang out for a few days and I loved it. We did the last of the house cleanup, stocked up on the food we'd need for the holiday. She slept in, and read books. We took walks and talked and talked and talked.
Everyone else trickled in starting on Wednesday afternoon. Dale and her crew, because they didn't have enough on their plates getting ready to host the entire crew the next day???, had invited us over for poutine; a pre-Thanksgiving treat. Those who were free trooped on over, and got to discover a new taste sensation. I'd not tried the traditional Canadian dish - gravy over cheese curds and french fries - but it tasted better than I thought it would. Delicious, even. Who knew?
On Thanksgiving Day, I got up early, per tradition, to make the pies. Once they came out of the oven, we all made our way back to Dale and Brian's place for dinner. She loves hosting the annual event, as she has for the past three or four big gatherings, and pulled it off flawlessly. After this year of spending so much time alone, my heart didn't quite know what to do with the physical presence of so many people it loves. The hugs and chaos slipped in to fill thirsty long-dried cracks and crevices in my soul, easing aches I wasn't even aware existed.
After dinner, we all made our way back to my place. Those who wanted to, walked down to watch the Plaza lights come on, one of my favorite parts of the day's traditions. (You might have to live here to understand why it's such a fun deal to meet up with tens of thousands of your closest friends to watch Christmas lights come on in an outdoor shopping center, but I have a lot of treasured memories around the event.) The walk comes with the added bonus of making room for pie, which was served as soon as we returned home.
Friday, we started out after breakfast so everyone could see Joe and Rita's castle and Ted's new house, so we could admire the work they've been doing to fix up their places. After lunch, I took shameless advantage of the available labor pool, and convinced them it would be quite fun to play a rousing game of rearrange-the-furniture. Dinner time came too quickly, as we all gathered one last time for turkey soup and biscuits.
They all left early Saturday morning in a flurry of hugs, taking their energy with them, leaving me to collapse gratefully in a chair. Two days later, I have the house straightened up. The towels and sheets are washed up, and the blankets have been folded; it's all ready to go back into storage for next time. The house is quiet, but they left a bunch of their love behind, so my heart is still content.
I am so grateful for those two good days. No drama, no fuss, no tears. Just friends and family and food - a reprise of celebrations past, a ration of hope.
Good Is.
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