Thanks Giving


The Black Stallion (film)

The Black Stallion (film) (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

It’s been a day of good things.

I’m sitting here tonight, one eye on the television.  We’re watching “The Black Stallion,” a film I’ve never seen, a book I’ve never read.  I borrowed it from the childrens’ section at our local library in the hopes of entertaining my mother, who loves horses more than just about anything else in the world.  So far, she’s rapt.

My other eye is on the back deck, where the porch light shines full on the blizzard.  Wind!  Snow!  Hot diggedy-damn!  I love snow and I don’t mind storms, but I am mindful of how lucky we are.  We have power (and a generator just in case).  We have a hearth with a fire merrily blazing.  We have a gas stove that provides warm meals and hot tea and coffee.  We have food aplenty and warm clothing.  We don’t have to huddle together to keep warm, we don’t have to brave the elements in order to survive.

We are so damn lucky.

Lucky, too, that today I reconnected with someone I’d thought gone from my life.  This woman and I used to work together.  We haven’t spoken in about five years or so; not because we don’t like each other, but because our lives got busy and went in different directions.  She’s been working and raising two little girls, and tending to her marriage.  Me, I’ve been all over the map.

She’s beginning a new career in Occupational Therapy, just finishing up her degree program.  She needs to do a paper on some sort of illness, something not commonly known.  She though of a child we’d both once known, who died many years ago, and decided to do a paper on her.  Googling her name to find her date of death, she also connected to a blog I had written about that girl.  One thing led to another, and she dropped me an email with her home number.  I called her today.

I think we both ended up surprised by how much we enjoyed our conversation, and how long it went on.  Neither of us is a phone sort of person, but we must have talked for over an hour, catching up on various family members, as well as our own lives and thoughts, feelings and fears.

I feel a welling gratitude that I am not alone in this world.  Sometimes I forget that.  Sometimes even surrounded by people I feel isolated.  All that’s normal.  But when that fog clears, I am glad for those nearby, and glad for those away who come close again.

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About Melissa Crandall

Longer ago than I care to admit--although I will--I cut my writing teeth on fanzines and media tie-in novels. Since then, I've moved on to narrative nonfiction, speculative fiction, and essays. I write to explore and understand the world around me, the things I see and experience nearby or from a distance. If I shake myself up, cool. If I shake you up, even better. Not gratuitously--what's the point in that?--but to set what I know, or think I know, on end and realize, "Well, doesn't it look different from this side!" My work is neither sexually explicit nor graphically violent. Let's face it - your imaginations will come up with things far worse than anything I could write, no matter how descriptive. Besides, it's just not my thing. I live in Connecticut with my supportive husband Ed, a cat named Ruby who might just think she's a dog, and an epileptic Australian shepherd named Holly who isn't quite certain anymore who she is, except she knows she loves her mommy.
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