feasting time approaches.
plans to be far too full and to lay in a daze in front of a fireplace with a mug of hot whiskey and cider. this Day is the only one i can truly 'get behind.' to set aside a day to muse on all the things that were are grateful for, and for all the acts of grace we can perform as the frost bites down, this seems to be an act of honor. no obligatory laying down of stocks of gifts, no barricading doors against family tension, no fits to rush about trying to procure menorah candles in a state that has almost no menorahs, or finding an adequately lavish way to spend the last day of the year. just Thanking and heaping up logs and basking in a warm house filled with the hard squashes we have turned patiently in the cellar and apples and pumpkins and midday naps and toasts of all kinds. i would trade all the Holidays for variations on this one. perhaps it is because i have tried to make it a habit to listen to the ringing of the things in my life that make it worth living, and to honor the plain and the humble so i am always overwrought with joy and abundance of some kind or other.
(of course, companions help, love and heat and hair. these are the vital things.)