On Thanksgiving Eve

Just finished watching one of my Thanksgiving delights, the Addie Mills story The Thanksgiving Treasure, and thinking of the sheer breathless motion that has been this autumn. Everything, except perhaps the hours James was in surgery (and those awful few days when the temperature soared back up to 90 degrees, despite the fact the summer had been mostly temperate), has gone by so quickly. I can't believe the Yellow Daisy Festival and the Georgia Apple Festival and the Green Ginger reunion (Louis Robinson's old band) have whisked by so fast; one moment it was hot, and then it went cold and the trees started to turn with fierce abandon, as if eager to get to their winter sleep. All of a sudden geese were hurrying south, and last week I was lucky enough to be outside when the big flock of sandhill cranes I saw winging north in February followed the same flyway and came coo-honking overhead as I was walking the dog, beating their way southward. Fallen leaves carpet the ground, people have been burning them, and everywhere is the nostalgic aroma of leaf mould. I've gone from tank tops to sweatsuits, and Snowy is moulting in a hurry to get some extra down under his feathers. Outside the birds argue over the suet at the feeders. What a change from the life-smothering torture chamber that is summer, moving with the endless speed of a constipated sloth with a mobility impairment.

It's been a long and difficult year. I remember on January 31 dreaming of all the things I wanted to accomplish in my retirement. True, I've done that decluttering I wanted to get to so badly for years. Bags of junk have left the house in the trash, good items have been donated to Goodwill, electronic and electric items have gone to recycling. There are fewer things to trip over or bump into. But the creative aspects had to take a backseat to a crash course in practical nursing, as each month brought some fresh medical challenge for James, no matter how hard he has tried to be healthier. It didn't seem fair. And then through my own carelessness I lost my beautiful Twilight, the best car I have ever owned. If there is any three seconds in this life I wish I could get back, it would be those. I lost a dependable car, ruined my insurance driving record, had to go to court and pay a fine, and spent money out of my savings account I really wanted to preserve. I will never forgive myself for it.

But I am thankful for James, and for Tucker, and for Snowy, for our friends, for Kaiser-Permanente, for cool days and brisk breezes, and for a whole lot of other things currently scribbled on squares of paper and stuffed into the "Thanks Jar," which appears to have a bumper crop this year. I am thankful for every morning, even if it rains, and every evening, even if in midsummer when the dark doesn't start until ten o'clock.

I am thankful for life.