I have handsome boys…
…but I’m starting to get the impression they are getting fed up with all the picture taking I’ve been doing.
A Friday ritual.
A single photo – no words – capturing a moment from the week.
A simple, special, extraordinary moment.
A moment I want to pause, savor and remember.
My cousin and I offered to organize, host and cook the turkeys for our families Thanksgiving dinner. You know, just a nice cozy dinner for 46.
There was a bit of an incident with a dead mouse in the guts of the oven cause an epic stink but it was basically fine.
Once the house had throughly aired no one even gagged when they walked in and that forty pounds of turkey tasted great despite the fact that the oven was unplugged, moved, disassembled attempted to be de-moused, reassembled and plugged back in all while the turkey was cooking.
But really what’s a Thanksgiving dinner without a good story.
The players have changed through the years. The games have changed through the years. But the ever present theme at family gatherings is that there is a game played by the wildest, most raucous players possible…
…and their laughter washes over the house in a crazy tidal wave to another game.
The game played by the quiet serious crowd.
From Pictionary to Secret Hitler and Scrabble to Sheepshead the games change, the players change but the family gatherings stay the same.
May the family and friends around the table bring you as much joy as the table brings to those hiding under it.
Where do you keep your life?
Not the living, breathing, soul part (I’m not feeling that philosophical today) but the organizational part.
I know more and more people who keep it all on their phone. Personally I find this horrifying for a many reasons like…
Instead I currently keep my life in a red notebook.
And no, while bullet journaling sounds great in theory, that’s not a thing I do.
I am not unaware that while this is a system, it is possible it’s not the best system. It also occurs to me that a red notebook is just as prone to flood, fire and forgetting as a phone. But, for all I write on the computer and share documents over google drive and set things up in shared calendars, there is a perceived permanence to writing things down in my own messy, illegible, misspelled handwriting that I’m reluctant to give up. It’s as though in my mind a to-do list isn’t a to-do list if it’s not written at two different angles with big bold scribbles when something is crossed off.
I keep my life in a red notebook. Where do you keep yours?
John: What’s that noise?
Me: You mean the thing that sounds like a snare drum being followed by a civil war regiment? I think it’s the dryer.
John (walking toward sound): Ahhhh! What adventures does entropy have in store for us today?
(Answer: It was the dryer following hot on the heels of the dishwasher, two flat tires and right before the vacuum cleaner blew a belt. Ain’t entropy great?)