Thresholds

Thanksgiving has passed, opening the threshold for the 'season' of cheer. Whilst I missed my family of friends in Florida I went to a co-workers for dinner the night before. It was great. The mix of people, she lovingly refers to as the 'outcasts', are smart funny and giving. Her boyfriend loaned me his tripod to take pictures of the moon as the clouds cast their beauty and the light of the moon shone bright. It was funny, how cold it was, but I didn't feel it when I was focusing, and shooting; it existed outside of me. Now I understand when photographers get into those dangerous positions dangling on cliffs and such all for that picture the story that sparked a need in the mind to say it without words. The danger is outside, non existant, at least until the shutter closes.

Yesterday I cooked a reminice of a Thanksgiving, just turkey, potatoes, broccoli, Susan made the wonderful gravy. Of course I had to incorporate the apple chutney, I remembered I had put it in my 'letters to Taylor' book; and Geneva gave me a Paula Dean recipe for gingerbread, pumpkin torte for dessert. It all turned out really good, as we had neighbors and friends over for dinner with a little wine and good conversation.

What we call 'the Canyon Crud', is, I hope, leaving my body. Like a flu shot I'm hoping this will make me immune to this as I doggedly fill half the garbage with tissue, my purfume of camphor and eucalptus drowns out anything else. Unfortunately I had to leave early from the 'outcast party' and we wound down last night pretty early, well, a lot earlier from my past dinner parties. It's still the memories we create in snippets of time, words and music that'll give those feelings a stir. I think about the dinners we've all shared together, Thanksgiving in the canyon, serving wine in plastic solo cups didn't diminish the perfection but added to it. I'm looking forward to Christmas in the Canyon. I hope it snows.