The Post-Thanksgiving Post. Resurrected Post.
The turkey is now a dwindling cache of leftovers. A slice of pie or two remains in the refrigerator. The last, persistent relative has cleared out of the guest room. Thanksgiving is a memory, a blurring collection of noise, arguments, football, arguments about football, and overindulgence.
That about sum it up for you?
It doesn���t paint a truly accurate portrait of my Thanksgiving, but I���m invoking my poetic license. See, right there under the big print that says ���WRITER��� the license reads ���May make shit up.���
I���m thankful for that, among other things. Hasn���t been a bad year, to be honest. I can be truly thankful. I���m thankful for you readers. I���d be thankful for more of you, of course, but go too far down that road and you get run over by ingratitude. I���m thankful for all those who���ve bought ���Under Strange Suns��� and ���Reunion.��� I���m thankful for my publisher taking a risk on a minor scribbler of short stories (though I suppose that should be in last year���s collection of thanks.) I���m thankful for a wife who understands my need to, once per day, disappear inside my head while sitting at the keyboard. I���m thankful for a squealing, laughing daughter (though the onset of the Terrible Twos has a tendency to temper that thanks from time to time.)
I���m thankful for the power company. It���s bone-chilling outside. Clear and beautiful, but frigid. I saw a couple of polar bears eying parkas in a department store window. I���m thankful for beer. That, I suppose, should go without saying, but I���m saying it anyway. Hail Ninkasi, doff your cap to King Gambrinus. I���m thankful the price of gasoline dipped this year. I���m thankful the books I enjoyed reading this year outnumbered those that disappointed.
Not a bad year, with one month left to go.
What about you? What ratcheted up your gratitude meter?
