My Thanksgiving

My Thanksgiving

Well here it is... Friday... the day after Thanksgiving. I feel terrific. I have a sense of well being that I haven't felt for some time. A sense of expectancy... something wonderful is about to come my way. Something wonderful also happened yesterday.

I haven't had the means to celebrate with a Thanksgiving dinner for several years, Christmas either for that matter. Times have been a little tough and it seemed a waste to spend much needed funds on my own celebrations. Yet on Wednesday I said "no more"... I wanted to honor those I love and to thank the Good Lord for giving me the blessings I have and will have and yes... those blessings I once had too.

The first order of the day was to stop with the Kraft dinner and move on to a more traditional feast. I bought a small turkey breast, some little round potatoes and one rather large, sweet potato. Sadly I forgot cranberries but they are hard to find at this time here in Canada... and for this old girl, out of sight is out of mind.

I spent some time preparing stuffing... sauteing mushrooms and onions, then mixing into diced bread with chopped apples. Ouuuuuuh this was going to be gooooood! 

I finished the stuffing and laid the turkey breast on it in a rather large roasting pan. I only have the one pan so there was no fuss over what size I needed. I filled the pan with cut up sweet potato and the little round, yellow potatoes. My initial plan was to make mashed potatoes but I forgot that I only have one pot and I wanted to save that for making gravy. Oven roasted potatoes seemed a fine alternative.

Now there is only me to eat this feast but I cooked for all my friends and family... of course in spirit only... as there was and is only me. My Canadian parts were off working, it is no celebration here, and my Arizona parts were far away and my Tennessee part was busy and far away too. 

The turkey wrapped in a cocoon of tin foil went into the warmed oven. Soon tantalizing scents stirred my soul.

Ohhhhh it smelled so good. Can there be a finer fragrance than roasting turkey???... I could hardly wait yet I slow cooked my turkey and let the fragrance tease me all afternoon. I decided to act like it was a traditional American celebration and spent part of the day watching TV yet somehow I missed one of my favorite shows... the Eukanuba dog show!!!! I actually cried out in frustration when I saw on the news that I had missed it... I was watching The Young and The Restless tribute show for Jeanne Cooper who passed away in May. I've seen it three times now and cry at each. An English foxhound won best in show this year... fine dog... bet he doesn't get Alpo.

When dinner was ready I dashed to the stove and lifted my treasure out. I let it rest for a few minutes... I was pacing the floor like an expectant parent... or like a Christmas morning when your parents won't wake up... I couldn't wait a moment longer. 

The time came when my meal was ready. I made my gravy and sliced my turkey... ahhhh so-o beautiful. I spooned out the stuffing, potatoes and sweet potato chunks and covered all with the gravy.... bliss!!!!

I put my filled to overflowing plate upon my simple table and sat down to eat. The goal being not to be able to stand up when I was done. This may sound like gorging but I have trouble standing even on good days. I sat for a moment and stared at the beauty of the plate. I inhaled the fragrance... the gravy, the turkey, the potatoes... the sage scented stuffing.

I glanced up and could see everyone around me. All those I love were there... each with a smiling face... I imagined a plate for each and the turkey never ran out. I felt the love... multiple sets of arms hugged me... both those in the present and those who have gone on. I felt comforted, protected and above all cherished.

This was a dinner I will never forget... it wasn't the food or doing nothing all day. It was those who I love that made it so special.

I am grateful for that special day. I am grateful for those I love and who love me. I am grateful for being able to share that special moment. This is the true meaning of Thanksgiving.

And there is more... I am grateful for...

LEFTOVERS!

Ghost Leaves

Ghost Leaves

Autumn is over.The leaves which turned from green to the many brilliant shades of red, orange and yellow and in so doing created a world of brilliance, are now gone. Winds pull the leaves from their tree hosts and in a whirling rain of color, spilling them to the ground below. Here the riot of rich color slowly turns to softer shades and then to a thick carpet of brown.

The air is sharp and cold. It bites when breathed in and brings a flush of color to the cheeks. The fragrance of the fallen leaves fills the senses. It is an intense earthy smell, clean yet a bit spicy and awakes a primal spirit.

Men with machines screaming at intense, ear-splitting decibel's, blow the leaves into huge piles along the roadside. In the old days it was a ritual of autumn to rake the leaves but modern life has pushed that aside. In times past, hours would be spent raking, creating leaf mountains. All to be ready for composting or mulching but now the landfill is to be their future home. 

Children had rituals also. They would bury themselves in fragrant leaf blankets or jump into the pillow-like softness that only a large leaf pile could provide. Handfuls of leaves became weapons and were tossed in abandon. Bodies became clothed in leaves and once imbedded in hair, leaves became hats of distinction. Giggles fill the air with joyous melody.

 
Dogs too, love the leaves. Darting in and out of the piles as the children do, tails high and tongues dropping from mouths. Dogs and children play together in glorious abandon. The leaves provide happy bodies with glowing faces and later, a night of deep sleep and sweet dreams.

But even as the children play, deep under the piles, ghost leaves are being born. 

Along the pile bottom and the top of the sidewalks, leaves are pressed into the concrete surface. The chemical reaction of autumn rain decaying the leaves etched copies of the leaves on the pavement. Darkened stenciled images of what was once living color.

Soon the physical leaves are collected and taken to landfills, yet the ghost leaves remain. Maple leaves, oaks, beeches and more leave behind a xerox-like image of themselves along every sidewalk.

The images remain through the rainy times of fall, when dark storms drench the town and bring cold winds. They remain when snow falls and covers them but the ghosts always reappear when the sun warms the pavement and melts a window to peak through. 

Winter grows stronger and more storms come. The cold becomes deeper as does the snow but it is the ice which the ghosts fear. The routine of cold nights and warm days make ice form on sidewalks and to protect those who walk upon them, the sidewalks are dusted with salt.

The salt bleaches the ghosts, each day making them a little lighter. Each day they became a little more ghostly until they finally fade away entirely. With their demise the snow fades too and in time, the days grow warm and new life returns. Soon grass becomes green and trees bud, it is the birthing time for future ghosts.

The cycle renews, for with each green leaf that appears on the tree, the future of the ghosts is assured. The ghost leaves will return again, they will come each autumn and disappear each spring in a perpetual dance that is their destiny.

Weather or Not

Weather or Not

I will be a weatherman in my next life.

Truly I think I have always meant to be a weatherman... or more accurately a weather woman. Weather has been a part of my life from almost the beginning, weather in extremes. I am connected in a mystical way.

My first real encounter with weather was at the age of 4. At this tender age I met my first hurricane head on. For whatever reason I was left alone in my parents home on that fateful day. My babysitter had gone off and I'm sure she left instructions to remain in the house until my parents returned from work.

I, being a kid, totally ignored those instructions.

The wind was blowing hard, the trees were whipping back and forth and my childish mind ignored the warnings and went out the back door. The winds were the precursors of much worse to come. The problem came when I tried to go back inside, the screen door was held tightly shut by the wind and a mere 4 year old didn't have the strength to move it.

My first encounter with extreme weather left me huddled against the side of the house for what seemed like hours. Terrified, dealing with Hurricane Hazel as a mere tot and facing weather's wrath alone.

As a young woman I dealt with the storm of the century... a title given to every large storm that seems to come along. This one was different and deserved the name... it was the heart of winter and this storm brought intense wind and snow. Nearby bodies of water (Lake Ontario, Lake Erie) presented the storm with the opportunity to become a star and it did. Yet no matter how ferocious, winter storms don't receive names and this one is remembered only as... the winter of '75. 

At that time I cared for horses and their safety and welfare was my great concern. Roads were closed, completely impassable... some used snowmobiles to get about and the drifts were so high that they had to duck not to hit phone and electric wires. Snow drifts were to the second floor of the barn, there was no way to enter or exit from below. It was a nightmare few days but the horses and I survived and as with all storm events, time heals all.

A few years later I went camping with a girlfriend. Two more unequipped camping buddies you never did see. Inept would describe us perfectly. Yet God protects fools and idiots. 

My friend and I drove from Canada to Vermont. As horse-aholics, we visited every public horse farm on the way, totally oblivious to the forecasts of dire weather to come. As day neared end we found a park and set up a campsite. It was dark when we arrived and the wind was blowing hard. We would have provided a comedic show to other campers if we had been able to see any about. Our tent suspended from a wire form which consisted of two arching poles which criss-crossed in the middle. This gave us one leg at each of the four corners of our tent. Problem was one of the arching poles was shorter than the other, having lost one segment of the pole. Our giggles were lost in the wind as we assembled our tent.

We set up our three legged, lopsided, leaning tent and went to bed. Tired from the drive and all the talking only two girlfriends are capable of doing. The wind grew stronger and stronger and we slept blissfully unaware.

Morning arrived and we staggered out of our tent to look look for the bathroom... only to discover that what was left of our camping community was gone or blown to pieces. We were the only tent to survive. Not because of our deep knowledge of the universe but because in the dark we set up our camp in the only protected spot around. God was doing his watching over idiots that day. It turns out our choice of campground helped too... our choice was based on what we could find late at night. The tent site was in a hollow with tall hills around. There was also a forest of tall trees at one end, the place we were given to camp. Together these combined to save two fools where many others suffered from the wrath of Hurricane Agnes.

Later I would move to Arizona and to a small ranch in the Tucson Mountain foothills. To get into town (Tucson) we drove down Ina Road into the valley created by the Santa Cruz River. A wide bridge spanned the barely three foot wide river.

A perfect storm came to be, one which killed many and destroyed a good part of the area. Many days of rain from a stalled low combined with the effects of a hurricane to the south hit the city hard. Deluges of rain fell from the storm and water rushed northward from the southern hurricane as the Santa Cruz river, like many Arizona rivers, flows north from Mexico.

Our sleepy 3 foot wide river was now a mile wide and... raging. The water saturated mountains couldn't absorb the rainfall and it rushed down to the valley below. The river was at flood already from what came from the south. Hundreds of homes were lost as river banks gave way and buildings plunged into the torrents of water. Bridges were swept away including most of ours and our only access to town. I watched from the safety of the foothills wondering at the power of it all and knew I would remember the storm of '83.

Summer in Arizona is a special season. It is very hot but that heat is what brings the life giving rain to the desert. Yet the heat has incredible power as well. The ground dries, all moisture is gone and desert breezes begin to twirl. As it gets hotter and drier the whirls become mini tornadic spirals which race across the landscape. Some grow into immense destroyers of all before them. 

One such storm arrived at lunch time on the ranch. We were in the ranch house but heard it coming. It sounded like a jet airplane outside the window or a train roaring past. My partner and I ran out the door in time to watch as the storm touched down in the middle or our stable yard. Our barn lifted straight upward, 50 feet in the air, and blew to pieces. Fence posts sucked out of the ground and flew everywhere, the shed row roof disappeared... a giant saguaro cactus was sliced in half by flying roof metal shrapnel.

It lasted about 3 minutes... but seemed a lifetime. All our ranch buildings were destroyed yet the horses were not injured. Seventeen ran terrified into the desert but 10 more remained. None had more than simple scratches when it could have been so much worse. We gratefully rounded up our lost animals and made plans to rebuild.

I moved with my other half to a ranch between Florence and Tucson. It was an idyllic life, at least for me, as my love of wild things and wild places was at it's peak. Life here was isolated and self reliance was the only way to survive. One hot summer morning upon awakening, we smelled smoke in the air. It drifted in on a soft morning breeze.

Summer here is hot and dry... moisture is sucked out of the earth and every living thing. Not until the summer rains arrive does the desert get any relief. Summer weather brings it's own dangers.

We climbed the hills behind our home to view the land around us and saw nothing. No plume of smoke from any direction. The whiff of smoke scent had drifted away as well. We felt secure.

Business called us to leave the ranch and drive to town, 35 miles away. The dusty two mile dirt driveway led us to a sleek paved highway which let to civilization. There was no traffic at all.

Fifteen miles into our trip we crested a hill and before we could react we were in a forest fire. The highway was clear but on each side trees exploded into flame. My partner being a stoic cowboy... continued on. I not being so stoic began to pray. Breaks between the flaming trees showed hills being devoured by fire. We sped through the inferno at speeds exceeding the limits goaded by the possibility of what could be. Finally we ascended the Catalina foothills to burst out of the inferno and to safety. Later we learned that the roads had been blocked to traffic and that we were the last truck to safely make it through. The fire, small by Arizona standards and having no name devoured 35,000 acres of desert grassland and almost two humans as well.

My life has been such that weather events were a large part of who I am. Weather governed by a hand both unseen and powerful. Weather gives us life and takes it, weather feeds us and starves us... weather stirs my soul. Yes, weather is in my blood. Is it in yours?