Dismantling

During a short walk I took Thanksgiving evening, 

I saw an old barn that was being dismantled.

The barn's colors and shape are beautiful and in the light 

of the setting sun, it seemed more alive and vital 

than many newer buildings around it.

Long fallen into disuse, it is sad to see the structure 

being dismantled, but good to know that its timbers and

siding are being passed on for use in other projects.

Fallow

With its cornstalks clipped  into a crewcut, this field 

lies fallow in the late afternoon sun.

Even as the furrows run off into the distance,

describing for us an expanse of wonderful open space,

I remind myself that the concrete roads are not that

far away. With homes nearby as well,

all waiting to spread their cancer, robbing us

of this beautiful arable land, lying purple

and gold not far outside Marion County 

and Indianapolis.

Some Assembly Required

Magically, somewhere from one of Santa's storage bins, 

the hats appear, everything from a red velvet pimp hat, 

to Rudolph antler caps, to a funereal black velvet 

"Bah Humbug!" Santa hat.

Then we all gather for a group photo wearing our choice 

of the Christmas millinery. What began as a pretty

casual Thanksgiving stunt, with everyone taking their 

own pictures, now involves tripods and umbrellas 

for diffused lighting.

The picture below is missing four adults and two

of the three-year-old triplets, all of whom eventually

found their places in line. 

Thanksgiving

I spent the day with my brother's family in a converted barn 

on the west side of the county. There was plenty of food

and too many little kids to count. The babies kept themselves

and the adults entertained all day and, along with

one large dog, made for an enjoyable time.

Thanksgiving

Tuesday night, I came home to see fire apparatus at the end of the street, 

with more coming until they were lined up along the narrow lanes. 

Again? Again. For what seemed like the third time in three weeks,

families had been burned out of their homes. If it seems like an

epidemic, it is - an epidemic of stupidity - because all

three fires were due to negligence. It isn't just the homes where

the fires originated, but the adjacent townhomes

were also damaged, which means about a dozen folks

have been forced to start over, from scratch,

because someone was careless with a cigarette or left a frying pan 

on the stove while they went to the store. Damn.

I've always said that my biggest fear about apartment living 

was not knowing what my neighbors were up to. While I can control 

 my own actions, I have to trust that my neighbors are not

going to fall asleep while smoking, or splash hot grease

onto the stove top. The prospect scares me to friggin' death;

all the smoke detectors and extinguishers in the world are no defense

against stupidity and negligence. We are just lucky that,

so far, no one has been injured or killed.

My little place is warm, my neighbors are quiet, and

the stove tops are OFF. Tomorrow, I will

have a Thanksgiving dinner of broiled salmon, rice pilaf,

asparagus, cranberry sauce, and chocolate ice cream.

I have a meal of my choosing and "hovel, sweet hovel"

has not been among those burned.
Yes, I am thankful. Amen.

Small Blessings

Ready for his close up is my grandnephew, Knox Freeman, 

one third of a trio known as Lulu and the X-Men. Along

with his brother and sister, Lennex and Tahlulla, Knox entered 

the lives of his parents this past summer, finally bringing them, in one fell swoop, the blessing of the family they had wanted for some while.

All three babies are shown above: Tahlulla looks out at the camera 

from her mom Laura's lap, Lennex rests in the familiar comfort 

of his Grandma Fran's arms, while the ever-hungry Knox 

is fed by his dad, Joseph.

Every Thanksgiving, a large sack of Christmas-themed millinery

appears, from which we each choose a piece of headwear -

everything from elfin caps and fuzzy pimps' hats,  to redneck ball caps 

and reindeer antlers. This year I chose an elegantly sequined

Santa number (I find myself wishing for a Kate Middleton "fascinator," which means I'll probably have to make them myself). We all grouped in front of the fireplace for our picture, set up by Joseph in his jester cap.

The holiday season, it's hee-re! Catch it!

Gobblepalooza

After a week of rain and gloom, the sun finally

broke through late in the afternoon. Although we weren't that far 

outside town, it was a pleasure to look across the fields, 

to see an expanse of space where pale winter light reflected off

the trees and farm buildings in the distance.

At the back of the house, a low wood fence edged 

a creek where the water ran cold into the woods. 

They are endangered scenes, threatened by the 

encroaching city, pushing against my back with words like 

"development" and "suburban living," eating the open land.

Two hundred years ago, the place where I stood was a forest

before it became a farm. Now the open space felt like 

it was an island, with an ocean of concrete and asphalt

swirling around, constituting another "threat to the peace."

Grand niece Savannah watches as her Aunt Fran, on the left,
and Grandma Rita prepare chicken and noodles. 

It was a nice Thanksgiving, spent in the company of 

my brother and his family, a total of eleven adults 

and seven children under age four. Frankly, the table was

much too laden with food; it didn't interest the babies and

was more than the adults could manage. A turkey had been 

sacrificed for the occasion, as had a ham (somewhere 

a three-legged pig was missing one of his hips).

Mr. Turkey shoulda known better when the men 

in white coats came after him with that box

of red pop-up thermometers, one just for him.