November and coffee cups

Photo by Niki Clark on Unsplash

 It's a grey November morning. That's the best kind. Well, a grey November morning when I don't have to work. That's the best kind. When all the leaves have fallen from the trees, as most of them  have, and I can clearly see all the neighboring yards in the back, my own yard seems so much smaller. It's strange-in one way, the cold of winter is isolating, yet in another, I can clearly see the happenings of the household behind once the leaves have fallen and the cold has come.

    Tierney and her family are not coming today, as she feels it would be too hard since the baby had his surgery to keep him still, and I fear the light at the table will be diminished. Tierney, Jake, and her boys bring a boisterous torch to the room. 

    I hope it stays grey all day. I also think with the all day, I should have spelled it gray. The double ay looks nice.

    I have decided to just clean 10 minutes out of every hour. What gets done, gets done. Liam is making the turkey and mashed potatoes, and I will make the dressing (just stove top), sweet potatoes, canned corn and warm the pies and rolls. It's simple, but enough. My dad is bringing a turkey breast, and I presume the others will bring something. Honestly, if I could discipline myself to always clean 10 minutes out of every hour when I am home, my house would probably be fine. I want a clean house-I even read books on it (I am pure excitement, baby), but I like the theory more than the practice, I suppose. I have a stack of library books I have not been reading. I finally paid off my fine after a year, and now I am so out of the reading habit. I need to just-do-it. Probably I need to get the television out of my room and keep my phone elsewhere. I used to read so much pre-internet, and definitely pre-smart phone. Eventually some book will be good enough to pull me in, I guess. But those books-the ones that grab you, suck you in, and have you dreaming hard of another life, are rare. Most are just okay.

    I have a lot on my mind, but nothing to really share. In fact, I just wrote a long paragraph and deleted because not everything needs to be shared with my 12 readers, who don't actually subscribe. Hell, it could be the same person clicking on it to read multiple times. Or just clicking on it to make me feel better. That's sweet. 

    There is an airplane above the clouds and I am envious. I want to take my kids somewhere cozy. I want to visit a Christmas market in mainland Europe and then settle in a Scottish cabin and just sit. Somewhere with room for the boys to run and play, and quiet for me to just exist. I don't think that is too much to ask. Then we will head to an apartment in a city and visit the ballet-the theatre-the museums. I suppose that would get old after awhile, wouldn't it? 

    Happy Thanksgiving. A lone bird is tweeter-tweet-tweeter-tweeter-tweeting outside my window. 

I wish my mom were here. She would call several times, wanting to talk about the food, and I would half listen-irritatedly, because food is boring, as you discovered when you read the fourth paragraph today. I feel jaded that the Thanksgiving story was not just as we imagined, all the fairy tales of youth slipping away into something harsher. Obviously,  I wish Caleb were here. He could enjoy a game with us.  Anyway, it's eight a.m. Time for another 10 minutes of cleaning.