It's Thanksgiving here in America, a time for gluttony and reflection. The holiday will be celebrated at my son Sean's apartment, a new but pleasant tradition for us, and there will be all the traditional foods (celery, mashed potatoes, radishes, creamed onions cooked by Dad, jellied cranberry sauce with the can ridges on the sides . . .) that make the meal a true feast. So it's time to pause and reflect on some small fraction of the things for which I'm grateful:
For family and friends, first and foremost. For the above-mentioned feast. For all the joys of culture -- books, movies, plays, the lot. For having the opportunity to travel to other continents and discover friends in Russia, Sweden, England, Finland, Scotland, Australia, and China. For still being commercially viable at a time when many worthy writers are losing their publishers. For living in an age of scientific discovery when every issue of Science News has something worth marveling at. For living to see Terrestrial life take its first faltering steps beyond the planet. For living in such a rich world, so filled with pleasures and wonders and experiences that they're available even to me.
And for the fact that when I glanced out the window just now I discovered it was snowing. Great big clumps of sugar snow sifting slowly down out of the sky.
Happy Thanksgiving Day, everybody. May you have much to be grateful for, and twice that a year from now.
And on Saturday morning, Marianne receives her big Christmas present early . . .
She couldn't wait. She's been jonesing for it. So she's getting it a month early. There'll be a photo later that day.
Above: The last roses of autumn. I'm grateful for them too.