jumpingfish

The sun is overtopping the house, golden light spilling into the front, lighting the Salvia blossoms that remain and that one blooming Cowpen Daisy by the curb. 

The oak leaves are bright green and swaying in a gentle breeze.

There is a pie in the house: apple/pear/cranberry. Attention! There is pie.

We returned to the aroma of baking last night as the pie cooled, having filled ourselves downtown amid the lights of the city and the buzz of the hipsters laughing, drinking and checking their phones. We ate chicken and meatloaf and mashed potatoes and sweet potatoes and corn fritters and deviled eggs.

And today there will be another feast. Turkey. Sweet potatoes again. Green beans. Stuffing. And attention! There will be another pie.

My grandfather would have been delighted.

The three of us (Trudy, mom and I) will sit down, a smaller thing perhaps than those Thanksgivings of old with all of us gathered under the glowing light of my grandparents’ magical dining room, but a fine thing nevertheless. A fine thing. We three will sit at the table with a spread before us, such as it will be, and think of our gifts. 

I am thankful for so many things. 

I am thankful for blankets I can pull about me at night. For arms intertwined with Trudy’s. For happy dogs in the morning. For happy dogs at night. For a boy about to graduate from college.

I am thankful for lights we read by in the evening and for farmer’s market eggs in the morning.

I am thankful for butterflies and bees buzzing in the yard. For lizards hiding in the rocks. For beetles scurrying in the leaf litter. For the snakes that we rarely see but know are there. For wrens and mockingbirds and cardinals and bluejays and titmice and doves and owls and hawks. And even for vultures soaring just above the treetops.

I am thankful for the dirt that we plant in. For the warm, rich compost pile in the back. For the cucumbers and tomatoes and peppers and greens that grow out of the ground by some magic that I still cannot quite believe. 

With all of this, I am blessed. By all of this, I am humbled. For all of this, I give grateful thanks.

Happy Thanksgiving to you.

He leads a team. She’s a contractor on it. They were talking in an office behind a closed glass door. But their meeting was over, and they slide back the door as they walked out into the big room with the rest of us.

“How old are your kids,” he asked her.

She smiled at the question. “Fourteen,” she said.

He smiled broadly. “Mine are four and almost two.”

It was then that his face really lit up. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. He swiped in once and held it out. 

She took it and looked at the pictures of his children, and she said something back.

He nodded and chuckled and took back his phone. She sat down at her desk. He walked around to the other side and sat down at his. And they got back to work.

This is an amazing place. I told my mom once that when I took this job that I had died and gone to heaven. It’s true. Every day I find another reason why it’s true.

I saw Endeavour hitching a ride west this morning.

Standing in the wet grass on Auditorium Shores, we spotted it approaching from the east out of the sun. They had clearance to fly low at 1500 feet. With landing lights on, shining brightly thru the morning haze, a T-38 trailing slightly behind and off to one side.

The 747’s turbofans whined loudly as they passed over downtown. It was a single pass, flying directly over the capitol and then climbing back to altitude as they passed behind a flagpole and into the hills on its way to El Paso and then to California.

I saw Endeavour hitching a ride this morning. And that will certainly be the last one I see in the air.

When I unzipped my duffle bag and started to unpack, it was immediately evident I had a problem. A lonely pair of shoes staring back at me—shoes and no socks.

Well, whatcha gonna do? I put my stuff in the locker and went upstairs to run. I had my flip flops, after all. I’d just wear them to work.

I mean, there are folks at work in flip flops all the time. And tee shirts. And shorts. And hippie ribbons in their hair. There are remote controlled helicopters. There are nerf guns. There is beer in the fridge after 5:00 on Fridays. Oh for heavens sake, I can wear flip flops.

In the 9:00 status meeting, I walked in and sat down. 

“First time in my career, guys,” I said, pointing to my naked toes.

They looked at me, waiting for me to finish my sentence.

“First time I’ve ever worn flip flops to work.”

Now KK knows how old I am. He looked at me, confused.

“You mean, the first time since you started here?” 

“No,” I said. “I’ve never worn flip flops or sandals to work. Ever.”

His eyes were wide with disbelief.

What a liberating day it was.

The ice chests have ice in them. Trudy has begun transferring the foodstuffs from the fridge. And the dogs both know that something’s going on.

That Guinness should know is perhaps not surprising. He’s twelve years old and has seen it all before. So in the interest of ensuring that we don’t leave without him, he shadows our every step. (Indeed, he lies at my feet as we speak.)

But that Izzy should know is altogether different. She’s only one. How would she know ice chests? How would she know packing up the food? How would she know that we’re about to leave? Yet know she does. (And indeed, she is glued to the floor in the kitchen next to the big ice chests, and nothing will entice away.)

They both know something’s going on, but what they don’t know is that they are both … going camping with us.