it is Thanksgiving weekend up here in the cold lands on the Atlantic coast.  harvest season, frost touching the air, leaves beginning to change.  pumpkins - les citrouilles - are perched on door stoops and smashed outside grocery stores, thus providing entertainment across the generations.

Oscar discovered, this weekend, that pumpkins roll.  he also discovered that they make fine pie.

Dave painted our shed this weekend, and i painted the rusty and peeled bits on the trim of the house, so we’re all perked up around these parts.  we had waffles, this morning, that my dad made, with all my half-siblings around like a big, wild clan of coffee-drinking, waffle-dining pleasantness, and O played Lincoln logs with his older cousins, who were more patient with him than i knew six- and seven-year-old boys could be.  tonight, he and my mom danced in her kitchen to “The Teddy Bears’ Picnic” and all was high theatrics and i couldn’t tell which one of them was having a better time.

thanksgiving i don’t have much to say, for once.  i’m in a quiet place, a lull of very little brain…i got some sleep this weekend, finally, after weeks of crazy work and crazier early mornings with little Herr Morning Person and his cough, and the luxury of rest seems to have left me soporific and slow.  or maybe that was the half a pie i ate.

either way.  we have shelter, and family, and food, and more than enough of all of it.

i am thankful.

happy Canadian Thanksgiving to you, wherever you may be.