Thanksgiving 1956

 I can't imagine who was attached to the hand in the left forefront. My baby sister Patty was tied to the kitchen step stool. That hand was probably assigned to keep her on the seat. Pat had been recently bumper from the Little Darling spot by my baby brother Rob, the baby in my dad's arms, my mother right across from them. 

My aunt Vera next to Mom (was that a smile? Not likely.) Across from her, the portly Clark Gable, my Uncle Bob. The man beside me, Grampa, and across from me, my sister Kitty. We couldn't quite kick each other under the table but I'll bet we tried.

I remember these meals as occasions where we would have to choose the least noxious vegetable to make our plate look like a balanced meal. As this was likely my grandparent's house, we were in for trouble. Turnips, pearl onions, lima beans, cooked carrots! {shudder}

Of course, it was my Grandma Nelly, nabbing history with her beloved Brownie box camera. Again.

the slog

I really wanted to sit with cloth and thread today - any day this week - but there's been no time, and due to a very graceful, slo-mo fall I took last week, my right shoulder is complaining about lifting and holding anything, even a threaded needled,  for more than a few seconds at a time. Typing is doable. 

These days, a big chunk of a writer's time has to be given over to things that used to be handled by a publisher, if you were lucky enough to land one. On the front end, among many other things, editing ( I feel, yah, Dee). And on the back end, marketing. (I wonder just how many of those commas were in the right place?)

Before I forget, today is the last day you can get all three e-books of Prophets Tango for free. 

The 'Zon lets us run a sale like this once every 90 days and for those of you who don't know, writers still earn money based on the number of pages read. No king's ransom, but I'll take it. So we take this gamble if we think we've written a page-turner. I can't imagine reading a book that wasn't. 

Yes, I've rented my soul to the devil (Amazon) for a second ninety-day hitch. A commitment that keeps me from selling books elsewhere, but it's about the only way a self-published author can make any waves these days and there are a lot of friggin' fish in the sea. 

So this whole week, which I really only picked out of the blue, has been a study in timing. Between tending Charlie (who gifted me this lovely cold), prepping, and cooking for Thanksgiving, I've been haunting the

web, dropping links, sending emails, yadda yadda yadda. And lest we forget, the night job at the whine mine, no days off for the holiday. 

I am so ready to crawl into a hole on a beach and just wait for high tide. 

Christmas decorations? Shopping? Fuggedaboutit for now.

How do you like my solution for not being able to lift the bird in order to make gravy? 

Thanksgiving

The furnace murmurs on under the house. All three cats are on the bed, their ongoing war silenced. The house smells like Bell Seasoning and dark, greasy gravy with the promise of cold turkey sandwiches. 

My people near and far enjoying the blessings of comfort, 'enough', and safety.

Today a headache and sore throat keep me in bed with the cats. A fever reminds me that my body knows what to do.  What I used to tell the babies. "Close eyes. Sleep now." 

moving on

  

Still my favorite mood lifter-driving. I don't need to speed to get the mind groove correction., but this little stretch of parkway maybe a mile from home begs for it. Late at night, I can hear the rice racers winding up and letting it out with the occasional wail of sirens for flavor.

I'm starting to think about the ocean again. The Gulf of Mexico is only six hours away. 

Plans are good. 

Words are starting to flow again. It's all good. 

If the weather kept you from seeing the recent eclipse, here's Colin's capture from the airport. I wish I'd forced myself out in the cold to see it live. taken my Tarot cards out for a moon bath, but it was near freezing by the time he got this shot.

 

more than memory

 

I love the expression, "May his memory be a blessing".    I try to keep it that way, but Fb will reliably dish up the rough stuff. 

His face here, the day of Jake & Missy's wedding, two weeks before he died. I wouldn't see it before. Refused to see he was saying goodbye. 

Lately, everything has been a struggle so I'm just going to let grief have its minute. 

Then regroup.