Friday, after the Holiday

Now, as I watch the night giving way to morning, and  that familiar sense of peace abides, I am flooded with things like hope, inspiration and gratitude.  I find it impossible to harbor resentment or have selfish ambitions, when light comes to life, before me.  Light, changes everything.    Dawn is a time of communion , worship and repentance for me-and I need all of it, on any given day.   This is why, I call this time, the “early service” . 

There has been quite a commotion at the rabbit patch, since Thanksgiving.  For a good while, there has been “a weak spot” in the floor, in my bedroom.  This is never good.  On Thanksgiving morning, as I was singing in the kitchen, the weak spot became an outright hole.  A hole is worse than a weak spot.  I was determined not to let this dampen my spirit on the holiday.  In that spirit, I kept repeating,” it is just a hole in a floor , it just a hole in the floor . . .”  Christian was quite amused that I consoled myself in this way.  I had been horror struck, when I first sighted the thing and on the day of “gratitude”, after all.  Somehow, my chanting helped me keep a proper perspective and remain grateful, that  a  hole in the floor . .  is just that.

I had no idea, that Tres had brought his tools along, with intentions of replacing the floor this very weekend.  He was quite unfazed when I told him about the calamity . . . after the  Thanksgiving dinner.  Yesterday, Tres went to work on that floor and while you could see the dirt under the rabbit patch, the realtor called.  She had someone interested in a tour.  That will surely need to be rescheduled.  A missing floor is not the same as a messy kitchen, or a yard covered in oak leaves.

Tres worked well past supper.  Christian worked late and then joined Tres in the effort, when he got home.  I told them to stop and rest-to leave it for tomorrow, but both boys were convinced that wasn’t a good idea, as varmints or a small army could invade, in the night.  So the new wood was installed and  hence, we could all sleep soundly.

Saturday

After a cold start, the day faired off .  By noon it was pleasant outside.  I thought of all the tasks I wanted  to complete and was spurred on by the mild climate- and the prospects of “a tour” in the near future.  It was “raining leaves”, as Lyla says.  Today, was not the day to clean the yard.  Supper may be late, a few nights this week, because of that.  The sycamores are almost bare, but an oak is still fully adorned  in scarlet .  When the last of the autumn colors have faded, then will I decorate for the beloved Christmas time. 

I moved the geraniums from the porch.  This will be their third winter inside the farmhouse.  They are like old friends to me now.  Likewise, the fall wreath came off the front door .  I straightened the storage unit, which didn’t take too long.  I straighten the pantry too.   I had put on a pot of dried beans, as Tres loves them.  The beans simmered as-Tres kept working on the floor. 

Christian got off work by suppertime.  Both boys went back to work on the floor, after we ate.   They worked several  more hours, by the light of a dainty chandelier.

Sunday

Christian, left at daybreak, to go to work.  I was hoping he had the day off.  Tres has to make the almost three hour drive back to Wilmington, today-after he finishes the floor.  As Tres improves the farmhouse,  I am glad for whoever, lives here next.  It is like preparing a gift, of sorts.  I felt the same way, as I was adding a new rose bush in the spring.  I knew my intentions, to move, then.  I felt like I was planting a rose for someone else-and I was glad, when I considered that.  I thought of these things as the first faint light came to the sky.  By the time the light had become shine,  I had collected my thoughts and made sense of most of them. 

I decided to make a pot of chicken and pastry-enough for Tres to take some home with him.  I want to try to make Mamas’ baked cornbread, but I need to get my nerve up first.  Twice before, I have tried without one iota of success.  There is a trick to baking crispy cornbread.  I have never been fond of cornbread that comes out like a cake.  I had never even had it, til I started school.  The cafeteria served it at least once a week.  My second grade teacher was a firm believer, that children should “clean their plates”.  She would inspect our trays, to ensure this.  I stuffed that awful cornbread in my milk carton and passed inspection.  I did the same with “spanish rice”  and the green peas, they never bothered to season.  In this way, I survived the second grade lunch program . . .as well as “modern math”.

Tres was up not long after  Christian left.  At breakfast, he told me  he was concerned that he would not finish today.  He was in a good deal of distress over this and it showed.  This really touched me deeply.  I assured me him, it was fine, if he wasn’t able to do another thing.  Still, he ate quickly and made a mad dash to pick up more supplies. 

When Tres came back, we devised a plan so he could leave at a decent hour.  Thankfully, Kyle came home and Tres could leave with out needing to rush so.  There will be a “trail” through the hall to navigate for a while.  

Kyle and I worked outside and gathered another load of things to be carried to the trash, as we cleaned the garage.  We made sure all of the barns were orderly, this past summer, but truthfully, more things could go.  I inherited a lot of  it, when I moved here.  We made good progress and so, supper was late.

What a wonderful holiday, it has been for the rabbit patch-in spite of  that dreadful hole in the  floor.   I have eaten well in the best of company for several days.  I have sat in the presence of friendly fires.  I lingered at the “early services” for as long as I pleased.   . .I stood beneath an oak tree that rained rubies around me- and I spent a  fair amount of time, singing in the kitchen.

Dearest Diary,  I loved Thanksgiving !