thanksgiving, part I

Aunt Teri and Grandma rolled into town evening after being broken-down on Interstate 75 in the pouring rain. They came inside and slipped into their pajamas and got warm by the fireplace. That seems to be the thing to do. When I got home from work, I went straight into my pajamas, ignited a fire in the hearth, grabbed a Killian's, and drank a bit before my own solo Thanksgiving dinner: two baked potatoes, some grilled Mahi-Mahi, and sauteed mushrooms. Tomorrow I work till 2:30 and then I'm driving north to spend time with Dad's side of the family for the tail-end of the party (which begins at 10:00, when I'll be just halfway done with my shift). I wish I could make it to the whole thing, but at least I have the weekend off, when I can spend time with Mom's side of the family. My cousin's boxer Boozer is coming to the party at the house. It'll be interesting to see how he reacts to Maebe, and vice versa. 

Usually I don't like the holidays, but this year I'm actually looking forward to them. Last year I wrote quite a depressing post entitled "i hate the holidays." Much of it stemmed from the timing of the holidays in relation to certain events that had transpired just prior (i.e. the only girl I've ever loved getting married to the man with whom she cheated on me). But now, a year later, I can take a deep breath and thank God for all that he has done, the prayers that he has answered. He delivered me from the hell that manifested itself behind that dumpster in Clifton. He enabled me to find a great car for a great price, through the selfless generosity of a friend, right at the last moment. He brought me a job when I couldn't handle unemployment, and it was the type of job I'd been yearning for: good friends, good customers, and making coffee. While this year has shared its own disappointments, there is a certain brightness present that hasn't been present before. Or, perhaps, I am just perceiving the brightness, for the first time, that has always been there--the brightness of hope and thanksgiving, a brightness that is but a flame, but with praise and prayer can swell into a raging wildfire. I digress, and say this: I'm thankful for all that God has done for me--and in me--and this Thanksgiving I'll celebrate his love, grace, and generosity even to a creature as selfish, prideful, and sinful as me.