I Give Thanks

I love Thanksgiving. It's my favorite holiday, or close to it, because it involves two of my favorite things: food and community. Unlike the frenzy of Christmas with gifts to buy and deliver, parties to organize and attend, meals to plan and execute, Thanksgiving is much more straightforward. I have memories of eating so much turkey as an eight-year old girl that I had to lie down on our living room couch, my velvet jumper suddenly two sizes t00 small. I recall the house being filled with delicious smells, sweet and savory, rich and clinging, and I love recreating these memories for myself and my family. I want my children to appreciate a meal that is conceived and labored over; I want them to experience rituals and traditions; I want them to see their parents gather friends and family together; I want them to witness their mother holding her breath when she makes her annual toast. There is so much in life to be thankful for. My father always made a Thanksgiving toast that talked about the importance of good health. When he was stricken with Parkinson's at 54, the memories of these toasts stung with new meaning. What am I thankful for? The ability to watch my kids grow up; my husband who continues to fascinate me; my small but loving family too far away but always in my thoughts; my friends who make me laugh and think; the beautiful natural world around me that gives me hope for everything. Everything....I give thanks for the whole big mess of it all, and the ability to enjoy these full days with my health and the ones I love.

Shiloh

Do you recognize these folks?

After it snowed more than 8 inches Saturday night, we headed to a local sledding hill, Scott Carpenter Park, on Sunday morning. Two dozen kids and their folks packed down the snow until the ride down was just right, fast and slick. This was the picture in the paper on Monday. It read: "Grant Besser and his sons, Cole, left, and Carson, hidden, appear to be losing control on the run Sunday down the hill at Scott Carpenter Park. The snowstorm Saturday night into Sunday dumped 8.6 inches on Boulder by Sunday afternoon, setting a record for snowfall for the date...."

Snow falls on Mapleton Ave. (again)

Swings at Whittier

November sets in

It's almost the middle of November and everything looks different, faded and washed out, brown and gray, nearly pewter. The trees have lost almost all their leaves and we are left with the skeletal architecture of the landscape. The houses look bigger, the vegetation around them shriveled and a bit wild. It can be stark and beautiful, cold and unwelcoming, spare and clean. I remember feeling lonely when I looked out my girlhood window in New York at the spiny branches devoid of leaves. I see beyond that now and find beauty in the starkness of the landscape.

We all took advantage of the balmy weekend. Cole and Carson joined friends in the field at Mapleton Elementary for a birthday party; Quinn and Grant cheered on the Buffs to their razor thin win Saturday against Texas A & M; I had time for some nice runs on the trails with Shiloh; Grant put some new miles on his road bike. Our schedules are so full, but in a different way. The kids have homework and sports, but spend a lot of time joining friends for spontaneous play dates and the weekends are less programed. It's been refreshing to be off our go-go schedules, leaving behind (if temporary) a life of watching the world whiz by through a car window for a slower paced lifestyle. As we reset our schedules, I am finding more time to be in the moment with the boys. As parents we all find ourselves grasping for our children's ephemeral youth, but holding on always feels about as solid as holding on to a soapy wine glass. Some things will never change.