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OH, THAT MAGNIFICENTLY MESMERIZING MOON,
So fantastically full and fair and flush with radiance.


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THANKSGIVING DAY.

Isn't it all about being Thankful.


And keeping Traditions.

And being Thankful

for the Traditions.

And being Thankful for the People who are
being Thankful...




















For the Traditions.
As well as the New Additions.


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IT ADDS A NICE TOUCH TO GET ONE'S THANKSGIVING TURKEY in a serendipitous manner. Yesterday I was wishing for a turkey raised without lots of interventions--hormones, antibiotics, chemicals flagrantly sprayed--but despaired of finding such a fowl in time, seeing as how I'd ho-hummed my way through the month without doing any research into the matter.

Then last night I happened to call a friend to make sure she wasn't going to be alone on Thanksgiving Day. Not only did she regale me with the tale of how it developed she'd be hosting the meal for a tidy group of her own, but when I mentioned my procrastination in procuring a bird to serve to mine, she passed along a valuable tip. "There's a place not far from here where they sell 'natural' chickens," she said. "They might have turkeys." Then she gave me rough directions for getting there--on roads I did not know.

Thus my first order of the day this morning was chasing after a fowl--what I hoped wouldn't be a wild goose.









And what do you know, turns out that I did see geese, but they weren't wild. They were plump and domestic and populating the farm with the sign that proclaimed: "Uncommonly Good Meat!"

The corners of my mouth went up.




"Yes, we've got turkeys!" the young man said, and I was thinking he must be a brother to Lady Luck.

"What size did you order?"
Hmm, right then I noticed his eyes didn't look so much like hers.

"Oh, dear. I didn't place an order," I said. "I just heard of this place last night." I noticed his nose was more nicely shaped. Why, he didn't really look like her at all! I held my breath.

"Well, we've got about three that aren't ordered," he said. "They're going fast!" And then he smiled--my goodness, the splitting image of Lady L's smile!


Naturally, I myself was smiling as I headed home with my ever so natural turkey.


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THERE ARE AN AWFUL LOT OF SCENES on the cutting room floor, but I've managed to come up with the third movie in my Grandson trilogy. This one, The Grandson Greets the Sandman, was just produced today, after many spells of intermittent filming. It seems to be the preference of the VIP actor to work sporadically, eschewing any kind of schedule. And this director-producer certainly caters to his every wish, feeling it quite a privilege simply to work with the little guy.



I've been spending many mornings with him as his mother attempts to piece cat naps together into long and restful sleep. Some days this exercise extends into the afternoon hours, and frequently the finished product is so tattered, one can only call it Dozing. Ironically, this very exercise is one at which the little VIP is more adept--asleep one minute, awake the next, then slumbering and waking and greeting Mr. Sandman at least a dozen times before he says, "Hey, make yourself at home, put your feet up and stay a while...(only until it's time to order up my next meal, of course!)"



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COME BACK IN TIME WITH ME, DEAR READER.



















I'd like to show you some history.



I'm taking you to a time when things seemed to move at a slower pace.



One didn't spend so much time communicating via technological advances and traveled around in simple and natural ways.



Another huge benefit of this time period was the fabulous, warm, and blue-sky weather.  I can assure you, Reader Dear, that whole, entire Colonial period there was downright delightful weather!
Hmm. I see you raising your eyebrows. You should...Oh! Wait...dear me...you didn't suppose I was dragging you back three hundred years, now did you?! Good heavens, no!
My intent was to bring you back a mere three days. To give you a peek at my morning-long span of time in Williamsburg, Virginia. En route home, don't you know, from Uncle Sammy's funeral. Yes, yes, that's the earlier time to which I did refer: After a delectable breakfast with my horse-driving man, we took a stroll; like I said, the pace was slow, cell phones turned off, the weather, oh, so balmy. We tasted every sample in ye olde peanut shoppe (and then bought more--no peanut beats those good Virginia goobers!) There was the outdoor herb shop and the carriages to inspect. Truly, I was reluctant to speed forward into time and leave behind that fine Colonial period!



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HERE IT IS-- THE ANTICIPATED AND MUCH-BALLYHOOED
sequel to The Grandson (well, really there was no ballyhooing...the producer-director just happens to like that word): The Grandson Orders Brunch...in which the title character can no longer be pacified by his doting grandmother. Just to set the scene, I can tell you the grandmother arose at 6:30 in the morning and dressed her sleepy self--so recently home from a trip to southern Virginia, where she'd gotten but scant restful slumber (on account of spending the night in a room with a lovely view she had known since childhood--besmirched, however, by the malodorous inklings of mold and mildew) . She sets out to rescue her daughter, who herself is in the throes of a much more extreme case of sparse and interrupted sleep.

A note of warning: You may find yourself, Dear Viewer, a bit disgruntled by the abrupt ending, leaving you with a hunger for slightly more development of the plot (not to mention the way it leaves one hanging, questions on one's lips). Keep in mind the producer-director was dealing with a a disgruntled little actor, quite dissatisfied with the blue-green plastic object hanging on his lips. And, yes, indeed, it was his outsized hunger calling all the shots!



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AS THE GOOD BOOK SAYS: There's a time to be born and a time to die. And then, of course, there's all that time in between. In which I just found myself rushing through a one-week portion bookmarked by a timely birth and a timely death--a blessed beginning and a blessed end. Of the former event, Dear Reader, you've been greatly informed. Of the latter, this much I can say: My Uncle Sam was a very good man. I loved his genuine smile. This younger brother of my father was his sidekick in many a shenanigan. Oh, the tales my dad could tell! As well, throughout their lives, both brothers had a knack for lending a hand to others.

Thus, the crowd at his funeral yesterday was swelled by those paying tribute to the gifts and talents he so freely shared. Yes, Uncle Sam led a long life and he led a good life. And declaring as much, the very southern preacher then said, "Can I get an amen?!"



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I'VE FALLEN HEAD OVER HEELS IN LOVE with my little VIP and it had been, dear me, half a lifetime ago since last I saw him! So this evening, when he penciled me in for a personal tete-a-tete, I was pretty excited. Imagine my thrill, then, when I got him to agree to a starring role in my current movie, The Grandson!



He's making his acting debut in this movie, and I think he's a real natural. (As the director, I was slightly disappointed that he couldn't seem to give me a smile when I called for one, but then in retrospect, I realize it was much better to go with the unfocused stare--what genius! I'm certain I'll be using him in lots more of my work! If you happen to be a movie critic, Dear Viewer, please give me a thumbs-up rating. (A thumb-in-the-mouth might be okay, too.)



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PETER PIPER PICKED A PECK OF PLUMP AND PRETTY PEPPERS. And so did I.

All those seeds that bore fruit in my daughter's garden--the many kinds--they've come full circle. This was the final gleaning, picking these peppers off the withered plants. All the seed-bearing gifts have now been gathered in. (I'll let you take a guess at my favorite crop.) Time to enjoy the harvest and be grateful!

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THE VIP...OH MY... I WAS IN AWE! HE DID NOT SAY A WORD, but won me with his charming ways! I got his autograph. No, wait--it was his photograph. You see how flustered I've become?

And, curiously, though we just met, I know his weight--down to the very ounce. (I didn't tell him mine! But I will tell you his: 7 pounds and 2 more ounces.)

He's so new on the scene, this LEWIS JEROME-- I highly recommend you see him if you get the chance (though no doubt he'll have a very crowded schedule in the coming weeks and months).

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And now (before it slips my mind) the conclusion of that tale that I left dangling yesterday: It got dark once again and the hour grew late. The old man climbed out of his chair and went clumping up the stairs to bed in his ratty old slippers. And just as the soon-to-be grandmother had foretold--he was truly a grandfather now. And she...she also sloughed off that "soon-to-be"!

(Quite happily!)

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IN THE CONTINUING SAGA of the soon-to-be grandmother and the little mite of a grandson struggling to make his way across the bridge, I have no more news to report as the day inches on toward noon. In this era of the story (which seems to have lasted for eons) the nervously expectant grandmother continues to carry two phones with her wherever she goes and call the soon-to-be grandfather every half-hour to agonize over the long-drawn-out un-knowingness.
...

Until, a few more eons later, when the afternoon sun is slanting across the leaf-covered lawn and she's decided it was all just a dream--this astonishing idea that she's going to be a grandma--she gets a call.

(Ah, Dear Reader...I'll have to conclude this later...my heart is beating fast and I'm in a rush. Forgive my hasty departure--a VIP has summoned me!)
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I WAS RUMMAGING AROUND IN MY BRAIN for something that would generate a morsel of interest to tell you about and what I'd planned on building my little tale upon was a particular bridge that spans a highway a few miles from my house. This bridge is one that I was accustomed to traveling over with frequency, but it's been closed for months and necessitated an inconvenient detour. How pleasant to discover today that that bridge is back in service.

As I composed the brief story (only semi-engaging, at best), however, an opportunity came along to talk about another very different kind of bridge. One could call it...hmm, well...let's say a bridge from "Not-yet-here" to "Hey, you're a grandma!"

The story of this bridge, my goodness--this is the story of the foot-high headlines, is it not?!

As I write, the bridge is most definitely open for travel. Yes, the nervous grandmother-to-be is standing on the "Not-yet-here" side and peering into the darkness, waiting for a call that it's been safely traversed. She is saying to the old man who ate dinner with her, "Next time you walk right by the dishwasher and put your dirty plate in the sink, you could be a grandfather, you know!" and later she says, "Next time you let the dog out and go for a bedtime snack, you're likely to be a grandfather, you know!"

Finally she says, "Next time you climb out of that chair and go clumping upstairs in your ratty old slippers, you're sure to be a grandfather, you know!" And then she recharges her cell phone battery and recharges the battery on her camera and restlessly paces the floor.

I suppose, Dear Reader, you'll just have to leave her there pondering what time she should go to bed, thinking of all the bridges she's ever known and the grandchild who's crossing this one. You can be sure I'll speedily scribble further news of her grandmotherly status when further news has transpired.


(...to be cont'd...oh, definitely!)