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.
This post was started before Thanksgiving, in response to the Daily Post prompt “Seat Guru”.
FYI: Seat Guru is the name of a website that is: “The ultimate source for airplane seating, in-flight amenities, flights, shopping and airline information.”
My family will gather for Thanksgiving, some smarter members will participate by calling in to say “Happy Thanksgiving”. We could do a National Lampoon Family Holiday movie with almost no exaggeration. If we are in the same house and nothing blows up then the seating plan is perfect. Except that there is never a plan.
Our holiday gatherings are held at my dad’s place. It is definitely a barmy old codger’s pad (rat poison in the Kleenex box, skill saw on the dining table…). There is usually a close match between the number of human beings and the number of dogs. Dad doesn’t have much seating and all the dogs are people (they sit on the furniture). So these things tend to be a slow motion game of musical chairs played to football games and home improvement shows.
In preparation for this year’s festivities, I wanted to get a fire breathing dragon drone to guard the kitchen. I figured I could use it to dive bomb and breath fire on people who came into the kitchen when I was trying to cook. My husband talked me out of it.
One year at Easter the men installed a microwave over the top of the stove where I was trying to cook a meal. This was not a smooth, everything-fits-first-time type of installation,it involved several tries where the microwave occupied the only usable counter space while the installation team regrouped. Part way through the project my sister backed her car over a bank and the installation crew went to haul her mini-van out of a small ravine. Very shortly after that her new boy friend arrived in his spiffy Mini-Cooper and we were all told not to mention the over-the-bank incident. It got so ridiculous that when my Dad’s girlfriend arrived I offered her a dog biscuit as an hors d’oevre (bless her heart she got the joke!). I could have really used a fire breathing dragon that time!
Update: we didn’t have any dramatic quirkiness this year. I wonder if we are losing our touch…maybe we are getting old. I do still wish I had a fire breathing dragon drone… maybe for Christmas.