…and all through the house, all the creatures were stirring. Thanks be for no mouse!
It’s about time to add the magic dry brining potion to the turkey who’s been thawing in the fridge since Monday.
The rice cooker is busily engaged in making wild rice for our pseudo-stuffing rice pilaf, which will be complete with dried pomegranate flavored cranberries, fresh herbs from the garden, and spicy pear sausage from our friend and gracious art supporter, Rusty, at Pine Street Market.
The food processor is waiting on deck to shred the brussels sprouts for roasting tomorrow with Pine Street salt & pepper pork belly, diced Granny Smith apples, and toasted pumpkin seeds.
And there’s homemade bird soup thawing for gravy.
I’ve spent much of the day doing my artist thing. Let’s say that I’m making progress…
We decided to escape some technical aggravations and duck out for a couple of last minute errands, with a stop for lunch at our favorite local spot, The Corner Pub. I was feeling grateful for friends to cook for us and a fabulous burger (hold the bun!) when I noticed a volunteer delivering this barrel for the holiday community food drive which was a vivid reminder of just how many things we have to be thankful for.
In fact, that’s one of the growing edges on my journey. Intentional gratitude.
Not just at holiday time, but every day.
When I’m writing and painting, certainly.
Or stashing good, local, humanely raised food in the freezer.
Or thinking of family.
Or helping Luther out the back door and down the steps.
In fact, if you’re reading these words, know that I’m grateful for you, too!
And for the community that has supported my growing. (There’s an art party invitation hanging at Corner Pub, too!)
That gratitude makes it easier to live some of my most cherished beliefs in community. Peace. Justice. A safe, clean planet. Helping girls and women to find their voices. Hope.
There are, of course, days that I feel too small and insignificant to make a difference. And then I remember the normal, every-day, cherished people who made differences in my life and I crawl out of my flannel sheet and quilt coccoon, and flap my wings again.
May it be so for us all, in this time.
Blessings to you and yours…
And then Bernie began to speak. And, somehow, in that place, I hung on every word, clapping and waving my sign, while my heart was filled with these words of Dr. King’s for, boiled down to the core, this was what I heard Bernie saying.
There were faces in my dream. And the power of learning to draw a simple face.