So I'm a little late. Sue me.
Thanksgiving synopsis: Emma made pies, Matt's mom came from out of town, Sandy and I made piles and heaps of delicious gluten-free-dairy-free food, and Gabriel ate and ate. Wanna know the best part? Thanksgiving dishes were all the way done, the kitchen perfectly clean, before we went to bed. I know. Pretty amazing.
In Facebook Land people have been posting each day in November what they're grateful for. Kind of a fun idea, but after about the 10th it was beginning to feel a little trite. Ya, ya. You're grateful for your family. I get it. Your kids are amazing, and indoor plumbing is novel. Cool. But my sister-in-law, who just moved to the far away country of Texas, has been feeling a little displaced, and decided to dig deep for some real gratitude. On her list: parsley and magnets. I must admit it was refreshing to read her pert posts. I mean, sure it's important to say you love your family and all that, but is Facebook really the place? It's like testimony meeting when somebody stands and says, "I'd like to tell my wife how much I love her." and all I can think is, "Then tell her!" And really that's the judgmental uncharitable part of me. Right. Working on it.
Anyway, about the parsley and magnets.
Gabriel is always hungry. Always. He's grown 5-ish inches this year, so I guess he really needs all those calories. But really?? The boy wouldn't survive in the wild. He'd starve the first day. Good thing he was sent to earth in a family.
Emma spent a lot of time researching and practicing making gluten-free-dairy-free pies. Some of them were pretty darn good. Following the example of her kitchen trainers she didn't write any of the recipes down, so we don't have a clue how to replicate the good ones. Ah well. There's always Christmas.
I've been feeling rather nostalgic about Wisconsin. My little heart-strings are staked into the hard ground of that cold country. November and December tend to thrum those strings, and I can't help but look back over my shoulder. Marta Keen wrote a song, Homeward Bound, that I used to sing while I was in Wisconsin, thinking about the time when I'd return to my family. Now I sing it to Wisconsin.
If you find it's me you're missing, if you're hoping I'll return,
To your thought I'll soon be list'ning; in the road I'll stop and turn.
Then the wind will set me racing as my journey nears its end,
And the path I'll be retracing when I'm homeward bound again.
Bind me not to the pasture. Chain me not to the plow.
Set me free to find my calling and I'll return to you somehow.
The time distance has grown, so I can't see the Wisconsin horizon as clearly as I did this time last year, but it's still there. I could find my way back.
