And still counting ... (12820-12,852)

a window framed in white lights
candlelight in the room
festive, fun turkey place mats, gifted
a platter of fruits, nuts, cheeses and crackers for snacking
warmth from the wood stoves
music

the nudge to look on a shelf
old favorite recipes, found
sweet potato bake with marshmallows (Linda's favorite)
a good stuffing
a dining room table, suited to size

Haircut and color!

Erin was ducking down. A room with a view.

the sky!

Love this guy.

Game on with my favorites!

board games at the table
a clean house
Denise
an audition for Lanie
and an acceptance next semester for her!

a wonderful opportunity for Lanie
good podcasts
morning walks
packages in the mail
Dave's offer

mild temperatures
morning coffee with Lanie
freedom
ornament shopping
the viking ornament

weekend naps
the wood rack, stacked for the week
blazers on sale
cuddles with Erin
Ruth

a year that is ending way better than it started
good lessons

Ornament

Every year on or around Black Friday, we go to a local nursery that sells all things Christmas: trees, wreaths, lights, ornaments. They have large and small fake trees decorated by themes. We've done this since Zach was a little boy, and now Lanie is sixteen, so that's been a lot of years.

Each year we pick out an ornament each. For the kids, their collection will be boxed up one day to take to their homes for their first trees. Some years we pick an ornament that is symbolic of something special that year--one year I got a foxhound ornament in honor of Nella coming into our family. Sometimes, it's just an ornament we happen to like--like the year of the sock monkey.

This year I had a mission in mind. I was looking for something to represent this year. This year was full of change, and I still am in shock of all the things that have happened, now a second year of unimaginable change. I mused over things I could get to represent 2018: a scale, a running shoe, an eyeball, a black rescue mutt. I looked over all the displays and even on the sporty tree, the shoe didn't really seem like a running shoe.

"Maybe I'll find a viking ornament!" I jokingly mused out loud, striking out on my initial searches.

Of all the things.

Of all the things.

Of all the things.

Not even twenty feet from my muttering, a viking ornament.

Thank you, God. I thought I would have had better success with a running shoe or a black mutt. But the viking ornament--it's darling. And perfect.

Here's to viking spirit, and changes, and challenges. Here's to tears and heartache and heart searching and seeking. Here's to standing up again and again and refusing to be bound by wounds and the shackles cast by others. Here's to a DNA test with just enough viking, telling me that just enough is still enough.

It wouldn't be Thanksgiving without it

We sat around the table and talked, and there was candlelight and framed window white light. I wondered out loud about things that (we) associate with Thanksgiving, foods that make the holiday, and the foods we wouldn't miss (I picked turkey; I really only eat it on Thanksgiving, but I could easily choose ham, chicken, or a lasagna in its place!).

This year, we planned to eat our meal a little later. I put off a lot of the preparation until noon, and then began. This year's soup was an Apple and Brie with Bacon and Pumpkin Seeds variation of butternut soup from Half-Baked Harvest. Denise and I decided, as the only soup eaters at the table, that compared to former years' favorites, it didn't quite meet our expectation (so I'll likely choose between Martha Stewart's Butternut Bisque or a spicy Bacon, Chipotle, Corn Chowder that leaves us all a little teary and sniffly).

To everyone's great delight, Denise peeled the potatoes for the mash and the bake (I usually leave skins on just because I don't like peeling potatoes, so my mashed potatoes have skins in them), and I began to look for the sweet potato bake recipe. I couldn't find it in my current book of recipes. I looked in the pantry at some books I had shelved, and my notebooks weren't there. I was about to go back upstairs empty handed when the nudge came and told me to look on the bookshelves where I put old curricula. I almost dismissed it, but experience has told me too often that the nudge is holy and not to be dismissed. I looked. And there were my kitchen notebooks.

Thanks, God. Thanks for the nudge and thanks for being here with us for Thanksgiving. Thanks for the beautiful music and the recipes and the atmosphere and the peace. Thanks for games and full bellies and grace.

We took out two leaves from the table and I took away the extra seating. But still, I missed Linda. And still, I thought of my sister. More, though, I was thankful for the people who were at my table and in my life. (Oh, and I knew Linda would be here if she could.)

When I posed the challenge of filling in the blank: It wouldn't be Thanksgiving without ___this food____", I chose the sweet potato bake. For me, Thanksgiving is all about potatoes and pie.

In honor of and love for Linda:

Brown Sugar-Glazed Sweet Potatoes with Marshmallows

Serves 8

4 lbs sweet potatoes, peeled and cut into 1-inch pieces
1/2 cup brown sugar
5 tablespoons butter
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon ground nutmeg
a pinch of ground ginger (I leave this out)

2 cups mini marshmallows
1/2 cup sliced almonds (I leave this out too)

Preheat oven to 375. Arrange potatoes in a 13x9x2-inch glass baking dish. Combine sugar, butter, cinnamon, salt, nutmeg, and ginger in a saucepan over medium heat. Bring to a boil, stirring until sugar dissolves. Pour over potatoes and toss to coat. Cover dish tightly with foil. Bake 50 minutes. Uncover, stir and bake 20 additional minutes so that the syrup thickens. Top with marshmallows and broil till marshmallows are lightly browned. Watch everyone go back for second servings, and smile, knowing that you found a favorite, and that it wouldn't be Thanksgiving without it.

And still counting ... (12,795-12,819)

an audition scheduled with a new instructor
a snowy day
a morning walk before the weather changed
hot chocolate
two fires
Gothic cathedrals

Ruth in the snow
how she sped like a bullet
how she caught snowballs
how she followed Erin everywhere
how she carried along the big stick

Denise's yes to Thanksgiving
a cheery shout out from the hospitality house
35 lbs gone
texts with Becky
a night to watch a friend's theater performance

pumpkin muffins for a bestie
that she took one with her to eat after her surgery
cozy fires
weekend naps
a walk with Shane

the biggest bag of mini marshmallows
Ann's offer to drive in the snow
a cancelled day for snow
the black fleece pullover--so warm!

Thanksgiving dishes

For most of my adult life, Thanksgiving has been my favorite holiday. I love to cook, even though it's hit or miss how a recipe turns out. I love having people at my table for a meal and conversation. I love the potential memory making magic of a special time we revisit year after year. Tradition.

A good number of years ago, I bought Thanksgiving dishes for my favorite holiday. I have always hosted Thanksgiving. I put heartfelt thought into assembling a menu, every year finding a new thing that would replace something else, but having very favorite anchor foods: turkey, Emeril Lagasse's sausage stuffing, Miss Linda's favorite sweet potatoes that was a recipe from a college friend (Ann), mashed potatoes for Shane, pie. I also had soup (which Shane thinks is the strangest thing, and he's not a big fan of soup besides. And I still fondly remember going out one year, the night before Thanksgiving, and scoring my very favorite turkey teacups on clearance at Home Goods. I bought them all--the last five.) and some kind of salad or other vegetable I'd try out. (One year I had roasted zucchini and red onions when his mom spent the day with us. But otherwise, I don't really remember many vegetable sides.)

I always wanted the holiday to be perfect. I wanted it to be perfect for the people at my table the way I experienced the same kind of perfection when I was a special guest for an occasion at someone else's house--like the friend who had the coffee pods in a basket and made up hot, buttery monkey bread; another who had an evening cookout complete with backyard tire swing and a tray of goodness for marshmallow toasting; back even farther in time to when I was in college and 80-year-old Omi invited me for a homemade dinner at her house and pulled out her very best dishes for it. These people fed my heart with the love and beauty they brought to the table.

I always wanted the holiday to be perfect for the people who sat a my table. As much as I wanted the turkey to turn out, it didn't really matter as long as people felt full and loved. And if they went back for seconds, that often filled me with the biggest satisfaction of love given and received. (Honestly, as I look back on all the years with new vision, I see the memories so differently. A contrast between what I wanted and what was. I am such a dreamer. What it was was far from what I hoped, and I would grasp for the spin and want to make it beautiful.)

I had these Thanksgiving dishes I pulled out only for Thanksgiving and my larger-than-life dreams that every effort was going into creating memory-worthy experiences. It's almost as if Norman Rockwell spoke into my mind, "There will be laughter and abundance and merriment and it will be beautiful and captured and live in the hearts of your guests forevermore. Can you picture it?"

I wanted to give that gift. The gift of feeling seen and loved. (And now I know, I wanted to receive that gift, of feeling seen and loved; the "well done" from a father that validated my worth.)

Sometimes I think my efforts were received with scrutiny, and her voice still reminds me with its judgment and contempt, "Everything has to be perfect for Courtney." She didn't get it. I wanted it perfect for her. I wanted it perfect for him. I wanted it perfect for them. Many years I cried after they left. I sometimes even cried before they came, from a fear that it would never live up to the potential I wanted it to be. And every year I geared up and braced, armored in hope. I realize that as much as I wanted to create a beautiful memory for them, I wanted something too. We only got together with them three times a year. I wanted it to matter. (I wanted to matter.)

Next week is Thanksgiving. My dad is still dead. Linda is still gone. And Lori ... I have no words. I already bought our very little turkey breast. I already made up our menu. And last night I thought about the Thanksgiving dishes in the pantry. They seem so tied to the past.

"What do I do with the Thanksgiving dishes?" I asked Shane.

"I was always worried I'd break one," he remembered.

This year, we are taking the leaves out of the dining room table. This year, I can set down my armor in safety; at ease, soldier. This year, the atmosphere will be ripe with hygge, food and warmth. This year, I will set the table and be part of the memories and there will be laughter and abundance and merriment--because I already know: I am loved.

And still counting (12,776-12,794)

leaves off the patio
nightly walks with Lanie
coffee in the morning
Shane
my kids' laughter after eight

that she's reading Phantom of the Opera
food in the fridge
clothes that fit
a warm coat
medicine for my eye

a chat with Carol whose family prayed for "the walking girl"
soup on the stove (Carrot, Parsnip and Garlic soup)
fire in the wood stove
delicious heat
a chat with the pastor who checked in on me after surgery

Marshall's Mom
pumpkin brownies with maple cream cheese frosting
the crunch of leaves underfoot
my family
this day

And still counting ... (12,748-12,775)

healing
sunrises through the woods
warm blankets

potato soup
maple butter
Denise, who just happened to be at Wegmans and brought me some things
French green beans
coffee

neighborhood tricks and treats
and neighbors who have special treats just for us
one week of antibiotics completed, woohoo!
a visit with Joe, Steph and Caden
mild temperatures for a first walk

a neighbor who passed by and hugged me and prayed for me
how November looks through my new lens
kids who shared some of the chocolates with me
a doctor who asks good questions
jeans that fit

Anita
museums with the family
how the botanic gardens smelled
beautiful skies
Ruth

a night walk with Lanie
cataracts
and all the good things that came from that diagnosis
packages in the mail
a surgeon's "no restrictions"

November

No more glasses

touring with these fine folks