Discrete wishes
According to the calendar, this is the moment where I discretely wish my family and friends best wishes. More precisely, “Happy Thanksgiving”. OK, I’m up with that (or is it up for that?) How about OK, and then add the disclaimer that “we’re Canadian, eh” to explain the variance in date with the media behemoth to our south.
It is harvest time, sort of. The potato field below us should be dug, soon. The garden continues to bear bounty, and the recent frost warnings have been just that. We have a window sill filled with tomatoes waiting to change colour; a signal to “go ahead and eat”, or “chow down”, or whatever. I know that the apples are ready, in a local orchard, as the FB news feed keeps me informed about such things.
This year, there wasn’t a big meal. I prepared a roast beef, this afternoon, and I did see fresh vegetables in preparation, but my appetite is barely registering. I blame this ignoble cold virus, which persists and prompts me to buy more stuff from a pharmacy. I’m resisting.
Tomorrow, things should get back to normal on the calendar. I have box to mail, and some government paperwork will require me to explain how I missed my own birthday (a year ago). I blame their inefficiencies in communication, while wringing my hand and hoping for a reprieve. We shall see.
In the news (on holiday weekends, not much happens) a refinery in NB caught fire. No casualties. No other insights. This is the same refinery that hopes to be the eastern terminus for a transcontinental pipeline, so I look forward to seeing what twist will be placed on their request.
