Schedule

Early this morning, my hands on my abdomen, cat standing on the backs of my hands, I was aware it was very early, and I did not have to get up. Called off, but asked to cover my usual day off tomorrow, an easy swap. Went in at 10, though, to do the schedule for the next month or so. Took me an hour. Better than having to ever be in charge. I'd be no good at that, I get up noses when I fill authorities shoes, and that's fine. So, I agreed a while back to do the vacation schedule, to varying results. Re-templated it, so it's easier to read, put it in a nice binder, with the holiday schedule attached. But I have to be more than careful to not screw up the numbers. One of the charge nurses has given me crap over my mistakes, some trivial, some larger. Something like this needs a second set of eyes, without harassment, but I do what I can. Everything is a trade off.

Not eager to get to the necessary cleaning for having the holiday dinner here, but I got there eventually. More or less. Thankfully, my MIL's sense of what is clean was probably worn down having five boys, so I don't feel self conscious as long as it's pretty good. For our friend Dave, I work to a higher standard, because although he'd never say anything, I know how clean he keeps his house. Dave is busy with his own kin this holiday. We'll see him later.

I've been pondering Thanksgiving, as I often do this time of year. It's a holiday without baggage for me, no family tradition, no religious significance. My mother declared it the day she did NOT cook, everyone took care of their own food that day, I usually had PB&J - no sacrifice. Watched the parade on TV in the morning, probably read the rest of the day, or watched whatever was on the CBC (anything not football, my father for all his faults, was no sports fan - I have some recollection of him asleep on the sofa.) The ex expected me to give him a traditional meal, which never quite happened, but that was only six years, and never stuck.

Twenty-one years ago, I spent Thanksgiving with friends, knowing I was shipping out the weekend following, and D with his parents. From that day on, we have been together, with much to be thankful for. The holiday became entwined with us, our beginnings and continuations, and hopefully our endings. We had our reception the Friday after Thanksgiving, a day when friends in town could beg off from the family they came to visit.

Cleaned the fridge, the kitchen, ready to cook in. Yams ready to be mashed, they can sit in their skins a day. Turkey to start thawing in the morning.

As for the house, I do not have my heart set on it, and I'm not in love. But it's all I have to focus on. I have, with reluctance, vetoed D's preference for a condo, in favor of my need for a garden. I dream of growing cayenne and ginger, roma tomatoes and rhubarb, peas and green beans, long grass for Moby, rosemary and parsley, red peppers and sun flowers. A mulch pile. And space to hang clothes to dry. And D smiles and says he knows.

Enough reason to make a day for gratitude. Hell, a whole week is insufficient.



After so long, he knows me pretty well, but never assumes he does.