So we’re hosting my brother and his family for Thanksgiving- which is a win-win for us. My SIL usually hosts but Brandon and I are slated to run the downtown Detroit Turkey Trot that morning. It’s a festive, cold 10k that runs along the Detroit parade route and as we missed it last year due to the pandemic, we are excited to get back this holiday. It makes it a bit rushed to travel afterwards, though, so we were thinking it may just be a quiet day at home for us. Brandon was just a little sad about that because he loves holidays, he loves hosting big family gatherings, putting on a nice shirt and making it a special day. He has a family stuffing and sweet potato casserole recipe, he pours liberal drinks for everyone, and just basks in the togetherness. When my brother and his family unexpectedly said they’d take us up on our offer to host, we got the best of all worlds.
This weekend has been a shopping whirlwind, for food, new drinking glasses and silverware (so all of our guests get an adult-sized fork and don’t have to drink out of mismatched Mason or old jam jars), and I’ve decided on a farmhouse table theme (hint: buffalo plaid). And of course the turkey.
I’m working two days this week in the home office and taking Wednesday off for some last minute housework and a shakeout run before the Trot.
It’s good for me that we are hosting. I think I need the family togetherness. I’ve noticed a bit of pre-holiday melancholy lately, which seems to catch me off-guard in the middle of my busyness. It’s moments when I’m alone and a small sadness comes into my thoughts, or lingers on the edge. It reminds me of being a child in the backseat of my parent’s car, driving somewhere at night, maybe to a holiday dinner at my grandparents’. The car is warm and safe, we are drowsy small children in the back, a cocoon of warmth and the rise and fall of my parents’ voices from the front. Yet outside the car is cold darkness, frozen fields under hard icy stars. And away on the horizon are lights, strange houses, unfamiliar neighborhoods, the blinking red eye of a watchful radio tower. And we are so small, just specks, really, bound together by what and for how long? Everything is strange all of a sudden, utterly indifferent to me and the people I love, safe in a car for that short moment in time that nonetheless stays with me for a lifetime, and can never be replicated, stretching away in ceaseless anonymity, under that endless black sky.