Friday, November 22, 2019

Friday

Just a few weeks ago, I panicked: Thanksgiving is on November 21st and I haven't even thought about how to prepare a turkey this year! (Splice, brine, slow roast, what???)

Of course, I was wrong. The American Thanksgiving falls not on the last weekend of November but, since 1941, always, always on the fourth Thursday of the month.

How can you live for so many decades in this country and not know that? Am I a sheep that follows blindly what is thrust upon her, without thought and contemplation? Maybe, but more likely, the calculation of the date of this holidays fell into one of millions of blind spots I have, that we all have about how we view the world. Some of them we correct and fill in as new evidence presents itself. Oh! Google tells me it's actually on the 28th! But others -- we either never find out about them, or we stubbornly refuse to yield.

*   *   *

It is truly a beautiful day here, in south-central Wisconsin. Crisp, but sunny. You can't ask for more in late fall.




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I'm "cooking" breakfast for two again.


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And after, Ed and I talk. There is a lot to review, after all. I have questions. The obvious ones: were there storms? What did you do out there on that small boat when you weren't "on watch?" And the less obvious ones: was anyone seasick? (The answer to that is yes, all but one out of the five sailors. I'll leave you to guess who was the one person with a stomach of steel.)

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It's a day for outdoor work. Lately, I haven't been motivated to finish up with the fall clean up, but today Ed took out the shovel and wheelbarrow (to fix the driveway) and I took out the rake and clippers and there we were, workings as we have always worked, to improve the farmette lands.

As I clip, snip and shape the front bed, our neighbor from across the road waves a hand and comes down.
I want to thank you for those cats, he tells me. It's remarkable! Almost no mice in the house this fall!

Oh those darn darn cats! Ed tells me -- they're fat! How much have you been feeding them??
Not fat! Just winter plump!

Dance watches us work outside, coming up to me occasionally for a rub, eyeing Ed with suspicious recognition: is he the same old same old?
I smile at her tentativeness. What do you think, Dance?You know, sailing can be transformative....

*   *   *

In the afternoon, I am with Snowdrop. She is at once excited and shy to see Ed again.


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But once inside the farmhouse, after many chapters of books and a solid snack...


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... she bursts forth with questions for him about sailing.

You bathed in the ocean? But how did you get the salt off?

Three cups of water, Snowdrop: one to lather, two to rinse.