The ease of Thursday morning was unsettling. Wide awake at 5 a.m., I migrated from my bed to the couch, only looking at the laundry baskets lined up across the floor after settling in with my laptop …
The ease of Thursday morning was unsettling. Wide awake at 5 a.m., I migrated from my bed to the couch, only looking at the laundry baskets lined up across the floor after settling in with my laptop and a cozy blanket.
I could move them, sure.
But I didn't need to.
No one would be knocking on our front door in the coming hours, no one trying to find space in a living room that — since the start of the pandemic — has become a breeding ground for clean laundry we're too exhausted to cart off to its proper place.
Nor did I need to start chopping vegetables at 5 a.m. or ripping up bits of bread.
The menu was mapped out, but the completion of the dinner prep didn't have to be timed to anyone's arrival, anyone's plans but our own.
And slowly it hit me.
I didn't have to be stressed out.
I didn't have to worry if I burned the Brussels sprouts or screwed up the stuffing.
If the dog snarfed the pie off the counter, no one would know but us.
If there wasn't enough butter in the mashed potatoes, we'd ... well we'd get more butter.
What's more, on this day just three years before we expect our teenager to decamp for college, we had them completely to ourselves.
We could continue our classic rock education while dancing around the kitchen. We could extend our 80s movies lessons with a few more classics. We could hold them captive to share stories of holidays past.
We could let go of all the stress of 2020 and simply exist in our own bubble with our favorite person.
It wasn't the Thanksgiving we hoped for.
But maybe it was the Thanksgiving we needed.
No comments on this item Please log in to comment by clicking here