Monday after Thanksgiving and my boys will be here soon. I miss them. Even when I did see them last week, there was so much going on that I didn't really get to be with them much and also, if Jessie's around, Owen wants her and if Boppy's around, Gibson wants him. I am chopped liver to them in that situation and it will be nice to have them to myself.
Yes, the Monday after Thanksgiving and all of the pie is gone, all of the whipped cream is gone. May I just say that I am so glad of that? Now if I can just pull in the reins a bit with the madness of it all and try to be a bit more sober and sane and...
It's just been ridiculous and I am tired of it and no amount of sleep solves the problems, erases the aching, eases the anxiety. We had a beautiful drive down to Spring Creek last night and we ate like beasts, as if we hadn't eaten in weeks instead of eating look fools for days. But oh, it was so good. The shrimp, the soft-shelled crab, the crab cake, the mullet. That sweet, sweet mullet.
All of it fried, of course.
The waitress asked if we'd like any cocktail sauce or tarter sauce or hot sauce and I said, "Yes, please, all of that."
STOP THE MADNESS!
I need detoxing and I need rehabbing and I need exercising and I need serious counseling. I need to work in the yard, the garden. I need to do some Christmas shopping. I need to work on the name blanket. I need to throw away the Brie of which there is still enough to put on a hundred crackers and serve to a hundred cheese-hungry adults. I will not discuss the goat cheese log with cranberries and cinnamon.
No. I will not.
(Does anyone want a goat cheese log with cranberries and cinnamon? It is very good.)
It is Monday. Thanksgiving has passed and life goes on, even as we hurtle towards Christmas. Should I light a Saint Candle every day until we get there? Ask for wisdom, for guidance, for restraint for humor and for strength? Line the mantle in the library with them, burn the house down with my pleas?
Well, maybe one a week. I would hate to burn my house down.
The boys are coming. Time to drink some smoothie. No bacon, no pancakes, no eggs, no biscuits for me. Oh Lord. I just remembered- there is still angel biscuit dough in the refrigerator.
How are you? Did you survive? Do we go on? Is there a choice?
The train rattles past. The days groan as they pass. The sky is that unhealthy shade of gray.
The boys are here.