I know. I said no posting. But here I am, well-rested. (Thank you Ambien.) And feeling better than I’ve felt in over a week: so far I haven’t been tasered one single time this morning and only my left hand is numb and I was able to make it out of bed this morning without falling against a wall or a doorjamb. (Thank you steroids.) And my children are still sleeping. (I don’t know whom to thank for this minor miracle.) So. A good morning.

And now I’m getting ready to peel and braise a big pot of sweet potatoes. Last night before bed (but after the Ambien) I took the second batch of dinner rolls out of the oven. (Well, technically the third batch. But one of the many joys of MS is that sometimes it makes me unable to concentrate enough to, say, follow a recipe. Even one that I know by heart.  I had to throw away a sodden mess of bread dough on the first attempt which seemed pretty pathetically symbolic at the time.) Tomorrow will be pumpkin cheesecake and pecan pie.

Thanksgiving Friday is almost here!

No: we are not Communists or heathens or just a little slow on the uptake. Thanksgiving Friday. My husband has a job that doesn’t necessarily stop on holidays or weekends or during the night, so he will leave us Thanksgiving morning before 6:00. He’ll be back sometime Friday morning and we’ll trek the eight miles over the river (creek) and through the woods to Grandmother’s house. Together. If we can’t be together, I’d rather not do it.

I’ve been cooking a lot lately, with a compulsion that was almost confusing. Until I stumbled across this lovely blog: The Kitchen Witch. The food, the family, the love… she brings all the perfect imperfections together in a beautiful way in her posts. And, probably, in her life. I’ve always loved to cook. But this is why I’ve been going about it with such reckless abandon in the past weeks. It’s been a sad, scary year. Now I’ve finally recovered enough that I (well, except for this week) recognize myself, and I recognize how much I love these people who live in my house and I recognize how badly I want to stay well enough to keep giving them all of me. I want to spend hours preparing their meals, treating them and nourishing them and every once in a while making them turn up their noses at me or at what I put on their plates. Letting them snitch tastes out of the mixing bowls. And hugging them. And, just maybe, yelling at them a little. Oh, and hugging them. I have the energy to do it right now, and I have to do it while I can.

So Thanksgiving Friday. And the sentiment is this: I will be with people that I love (though not all of them, sadly). I am thankful for them. I want to pour every surge of love, quiet or heart-rending, that I can find in my body into the food I prepare for them. The cooking will take several hours over a few days. One ruined batch of bread dough, two extra trips to the grocery store, one great big burn on my right hand, about 600,041 calories. And hours and hours of love.

It doesn’t seem like nearly enough.

Happy Thanksgiving.  I hope you are as blessed as I am.