This morning at 7:12, my house was quiet, except for me starting my Thanksgiving preparation. I knew that every woman in my family, and likely every woman I know, was rising from bed quietly to start cooking the bountiful meal we celebrate this day. I paused in that thought, happy in the solidarity. This is my most favorite of holidays. It is a given four day weekend. Other than the meal, their are not commitments. It is a license to be leisurely. Since I do not eat all day, it is also permission to be a bit gluttonous. I love to cook; I love to serve. I enjoy the set table and the sparkling glasses and bubbly champagne.

Beauty is in the details. While we stand afar and recognize it, it is in the finery and the minutiaeĀ  that beauty spawns. Thanksgiving dinner can be super simple, served on paper plates. Honestly, it is not the meal at all. It is the communion. I cooked all day with my mother. It was an easy day and a small feast compared to previous years. But, I set at my dining room table and paused, looking at my sons and my mother and gave thanks for all my blessings. The future is luminous in juxtaposition to the past. There is so much in which to revel. It felt good to smile today sitting with my oldest sister and mother at dusk, the air turning chilly. I felt at peace and in balance. Having a very full tummy certainly helped.

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