First Harvest

A colleague in the UK writes with a link to The Pilgrim Hall Museum, pointing out that we here across the pond appear to have adopted the English custom of celebrating the first harvest with feasting, games, and prayer.

A National Day of Mourning has been observed since 1970 as well, but I'd be hard pressed to find something to mourn at present. The baby is due in 10 days. (!!) B&B (the elder sibling; also a Sagittarius) hits its Terrible Twos on Friday. (Howard Bashman just beat me to posting about this, and found the links for the transcript and (Real) audio of my recent Life & Times segment. Amazing!) Having just cranked out an ardous batch of stuffing herself, my 94 year old grandmother has enjoined me from any form of cooking tomorrow, so Gelson's will be coming to dinner, along with some dear family and friends. The baby's room has a roof, and, finally, a closet. Furnishings are still sparse (ok, nonexistent), but since Doctors Searls, Weinberger, and Sears have me sold on co-sleeping anyway, I'm not panicked. Yet.

To top off these good tidings, the mail keeps sprinkling delightful Amazon boxes our way—from all of you! I'm having great fun playing with my husband's head:

So, you know this person?

That one? No, never met her/him/[insert best guess here].

And they're sending us baby gifts?

You got it.

[Quizzical stare.]

[Shrug. Sheepish grin.]

Anyway, it's fantastic, thanks for helping make this one of the best Thanksgivings I can remember.

––"[T]he truth is I'm thrilled that there are a handful of confirmable people, who have spoken back to me in interesting ways, who I didn't know before I began this thing. What a gift!"