Yeah. Feels Like Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving countdown is going just as it should, meaning I have made one side dish, the dogs appear to be sick, my knee hurts, the washing machine is still sitting in there, broken, and the laundry is piling up and Owen is coming today and tomorrow and the party is tomorrow. And then, you know, Thanksgiving is the next day.

I went to the Costco yesterday and bought stuff for the party. I bought a turkey. I went to Publix and bought more stuff for Thanksgiving. I brought Owen home and we played for many hours and Lily came over after work and we all had supper and the fence in the backyard is draped with wet things that were in the washing machine when it broke and also two rugs, and the rug in the entry way to the house is going to the trash and so are those other rugs but I don't have a damn truck, I have a Prius, and Mr. Moon is on his way to work and to possibly buy a washing machine and he is driving the truck.

Yes, yes. I know. We have the money to buy a washing machine and for that, I am eternally grateful. I feel like the fucking 1%. I probably am.

Also, we have the money to buy food for the party and also beer and so forth. And we have a truck.

This year I swore I was only going to do the turkey. And the stuffing. Yep. That's it. The kids can do the rest. They agreed. Then all of a sudden I was thinking, "Oh wait. Gotta do the greens. Uh-huh." Then I found sweet potatoes tumbling into my hands at the Publix. And apples. And raisins. Why did I forget brown sugar? I did buy butter. And of course there are the two types of cranberries, the cranberry/orange/apple/pecan relish which May and I love and also, the plain berries kind which I mostly make because they are so beautiful in the bowl. And what about pies? The pecan pies. I have to make the pecan pies. The regular and the chocolate.

My knee hurts. I asked Mr. Moon who studied things like hurt knees in college what does it mean if it hurts here but is not swollen there? If it feels icky when you press on the knee cap. If it pops when you walk. He said something about patellar tendinitis. 
"Ice it," he said.
Well of course. You always ice it. Who has time to ice a knee cap?

My hand hurts too. Did I mention that? I slammed it into a door on my way through it the other day. Completely just slammed my hand by accident as I passed through a doorway. No anger was involved. When I did it, I said, "Boy, that hurts." Then I tried to forget about it.
Forget THAT.

Oh well. This is the way it is. It's okay. It's always okay. It's just a gathering (two gatherings) of loved ones. No big deal. For the party I'll make a big bowl of pasta and set out chips and dips. I have paper plates. I have plastic forks. I suppose that beer will show up somehow. I think that Mr. Moon will get oysters. Oh Lord. I forgot crackers and horseradish.

Oh Lord.

If only the dogs weren't sick. If only I had a washing machine. If only the rugs weren't draped over the fence. If only...

I'll light candles. If the dogs die, the dogs die. We'll get a washing machine.
Bruce Springsteen is coming out with a new album next year. CD. Collection of songs you can download. Whatever. I am going to Cozumel for Christmas. We're getting a new grandbaby in March. I have hot and cold running water. I have the four most wonderful human beings in the entire universe as my very own personal children. I have a husband who, well, I want to die in his arms. Not any time soon, but eventually. I do not need embroidered samplers to remind myself to be grateful.
Hey. I'm grateful for THAT fact.
And it's not the kind of grateful where you have to huddle around a fire made of cow chips and eat gruel and say, "Thank god we have cow chips!" and everyone chimes in to say, "Bless us every one!" and I take up my crutches and hobble outside to wash the gruel pot in snow.

So yeah, the Thanksgiving countdown is going well and just as it should and just as it goes every Thanksgiving and there are still about fifty percocets or some sort of pain drug in the freezer leftover from three years ago when Jessie had her knee operated on and if I'm really, really lucky, I'll get a bottle of anejeo rum and won't screw up the gravy and the dogs will die.

Just kidding about that last part!

Love...Ms. Moon