The light is different. In the winter when it’s clear the sun is either intense or it’s dark. Feast or famine, warm or cold. The fog diffuses the light mellowing the extremes.

I think foggy might be how I’m feeling as well. Not bad, not great, generally on the bright side, but it’s diffused light, not intense.

Thanksgiving is Thursday. For the first time in a long time it will be at my house. My husband and Dad built a ramp so grandma can be brought in.

The turkey is thawing in the garage, which is the same temperature as a refrigerator, and the house is getting a good scrub up. I try to keep up, but time goes by so quickly that “I just did that” means I did that six months (or longer) ago.

I don’t like doing housework. I like the place clean, but it doesn’t last, and when it’s done (rarely) things are just the way they are supposed to be. It doesn’t have the sense of accomplishment of making something new.

I suppose that may be why people do projects just before the holidays. I don’t. The newspaper on Saturday made me laugh: it contained an article in the “Home” section about revamping your dining room for Thanksgiving by adding elaborate molding. Five days before Thanksgiving?

The sun is burning through and the light is getting too bright.