Mountain Musings

Morning dawns, bright and sunny, here in the mountains and I rise from my bed wondering how Thanksgiving dinner went?

I remember an old priest who once said it is a sin not to feast on a feast day. Funny how many folks are eager to suffer with joy, but not celebrate the same way. It is a rather dark way of being. A left over from our Puritan underpinnings I suppose.

First thing I did yesterday was go to the local grocery store and buy a turkey pan for my son’s family. It seems the sacrificial bird would not fit in anything we had. I was surprised how many others were already at the store, but it was a good day to buy foil turkey pans.

Returning I realized my stomach was making growling sounds and just assumed it was hungry, but a few hours later discovered that I had the Lennon’s flu. So, I spent the rest of the day and night trying to get warm under a pile of blankets, dreaming odd dreams of swimming pools whose currents were trying to pull me out to sea and of a hunt for souvenirs that took me to Maui markets with their brightly colored cloths and carved statues.

Finally, about six this morning, I woke up with water running down my face from my hair, thinking that I desperately needed to get out of the water. Now I sit here, drinking a cup of tea, feeling like I’ve been on the rack for the past eighteen hours instead of in bed.