As many of us have, I’ve just emerged from five days of stepping outside my daily routine to celebrate Thanksgiving with family and friends. I have hosted the celebration at my home for the last twenty-seven years, when the table has been set for anywhere from six to thirty people. We always seem to manage to find room for those who cannot be with their own families—friends of my children from California or Texas or Louisiana; exchange students from Austria or Croatia; German colleagues of my husband who first discovered apple pie and sweet potato casserole at our dining room table. It’s a great joy to me to prepare and share a meal with others that echoes dishes created by the many women who preceded me in the kitchens of my life.
My home since last Wednesday has been filled with sunlight and laughter; the warmth of a woodstove and the quiet of young people curled up on couches reading; the beat of the latest rock group thumping through the floorboards from the rec room in the basement and the energy of fifteen teenagers devouring turkey fajitas and chocolate chip cookies; my husband’s arms around me as we luxuriated in four days of no alarm clocks or early morning commutes.
It was a magical time to slow the often frenetic pace of our lives and acknowledge all the blessings we have—in our children, in each other. Yesterday afternoon, as I emerged covered in twigs and leaf fragments after spending three hours plucking piles of oak leaves from our yard (one of the costs of living in New England), my husband simply embraced me in the middle of the driveway—a thank you for sharing the work and enjoying a glorious day.
It is these moments of peace and gratitude and generosity that are the true magic of long-lasting love.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
4 comments:
Linda,
Your blogs are like your books, wonderfully poetic and emotional. I love reading them. I can see the falling leaves around your home and the picture of you and your husband on the book's cover. The changing of seasons has always been one of my most treasured of times. I love living in the Southwest for many reasons---but changing seasons isn't so noticeable alas. You make me want to be one of the teens kicking through your leaves to curl up and read on a couch.
Roz
Linda,
What a wonderful holiday. I'm so jealous of the woodstove and falling leaves that i can hardly see straight. I guess I can't complain as the whether finally dipped below eighty for Thanksgiving (dropping forty-five degrees overnight). Subsequently, my holiday was spent largely indoors and filled with love and laughter and the sounds of young feet scampering about (with a few fights over power rangers and transformers thrown in). If only Christmas could be this relaxing . . .
Roz, thank you so much for your comment! I must admit, I sat down last night and started the blog three times before I decided to just write what I had lived over the last few days. I love living in New England, but the winds were roaring last night and when I left the house this morning all the work we'd done on the yard Sunday had been completely obliterated. Oh well, tonight it may snow and cover it all up!
Tracy,
Our power ranger and transformer days aren't so far behind us. My youngest and I cleaned up the rec room on Saturday before the party and discovered bits and pieces of all kinds of things: LEGO spaceships, Playmobil swords, Matchbox cars. And the twenty-somethings in the house roared through the "Madagascar" DVD on Friday night. Keep the love and laughter in your home and those scampering feet will always return, no matter how old they are or how far away they roam.
Post a Comment