This is the first Thanksgiving in several years that I won’t be sharing with friends. I was invited over, but since I’ve had workmen in my house over the past couple of weeks, I declined because I just don’t want the thought of being a potential infection vector on my plate alongside the turkey and mashed potatoes.
But let me say that I’m deeply grateful for the invitation. My feeling is that I can put on a Thanksgiving meal at any time of the year, and maybe I should do that. Just declare 29 April Thanksgiving and invite a bunch of people over to overdo on both eating and conversation. Or 16 June. Or whenever.
In the meantime, I’m grateful that I am in good health, have secure shelter and plenty of sustenance. My dishwasher is working, as is my new furnace. I can afford to toss out birdseed several times a day, even if those little landshark squirrels come along and vacuum it up. I’ve got books from the library on kitchen design to pore over, and a bottle of Roederer chilling.
And Cadet Bonespurs will
be out of the Oval Office in less than two months.
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