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.


About Melissa Crandall

A million years ago--round-about the first Ice Age--I cut my writing teeth on fanzines and science fiction media tie-in novels. I'm happy to say that I've since branched out to include fantasy, horror, essays, and narrative nonfiction. This site will keep you up-to-date on my adventures in writing. I live in Connecticut with my husband--who frequently wonders what he got himself into by marrying a writer--two cats named Tuna and Gypsy, and a semi-neurotic Australian shepherd named Holly.
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