My husband, bless him, has spent the day taking care of me and sitting on the couch beside me; now he is off giving a little time to his parents. It's just me and my laptop for a little while.
I had thought about posting the customary list of things to be thankful for, which after searching my blog I find that I have never actually done. Like yesterday, however, I went to my story first, got caught up in it, and--by virtue of creating plot holes faster than I can fill them--just validated my novel at 49,021 words.
Giving thanks being more important than winning NaNoWriMo tonight, I finally took a break and came here. But I can't get into a listing mood. Every time I think about listing the things for which I owe gratitude to God and others, it really comes down to this: I am surrounded by love. So much so that here on my couch, coughing and feverish and alone for awhile on a holiday, I don't feel sorry for myself or even particularly alone.
I wish I could have helped my mom hack the turkey in half and cook it on the woodstove when their power went out this morning. I wish I could have talked with my dad and helped care for my grandma. I wish I could have sat at the table with Lou's parents, who have welcomed me as their own daughter. That I could have talked and laughed with our brothers and sisters and played with their children. That I could have made my pumpkin pie and the two green bean casseroles and been some use instead of burying myself under blankets while Lou made me hot tea.
It would have been fun, but I'm really just missing an event. Love itself has enclosed me behind and before, and laid its hand upon me.
Happy Thanksgiving, and may yours be as blessed as mine--only healthier!
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