Stirring up Some Thanksgiving Dust

The house was cold this morning when the frigid light of the nearly full moon streamed into my bedroom.  I turn off the heat before I go to bed for two reasons.  First, the clanging ducts and vents are noisy and I am a light sleeper.  Second?  Well, forced hot air furnaces are just too hot and dry for pleasant sleeping.  I set the thermostat to fifty degrees before I go to bed, thus silencing the Vulcan-like hammers and suppressing the blowing hot air.

This habit also gauges the outside temperature.  If it’s a mild evening, the house’s internal temperature rarely dips below fifty-five degrees.  A frigid morning like today?  The furnace will kick in at fifty.  Paul Cousins, my favorite weather guesser, used the term “record-shattering cold” for this year’s Thanksgiving.

With the gobble-fest being early this year, who would have thought we would have snow so soon?

I haven’t raked my leaves and finished cleaning up my gardens.  There are many things still undone.  I planted some daffodil bulbs by flashlight two weeks ago and we shall see if my garlic goes in before the ground is completely frozen.  I’m hoping next week’s predicted warming and rain might make it possible.

I’ve been busy stirring up the dust here at the old house, ripping up carpet and stair runners.  I’ve painted a few things too.  Well, that’s not quite true.  I hired Rastus to paint a few things.  “Rastus” Combs had done a lot of painting for my friend Gina Mason.  He came highly recommended by Pam and Frank Hogan too, who had done painting for me previously and were booked solid through January, 2019.  It will be tricky getting the new carpet installed before Christmas.

I love Thanksgiving and the peace and quiet her in the ripped-apart dusty living room this morning.  Rastus did a good job making things brighter.

About a month ago, someone masquerading as an interior designer visited and told me my living room looked kind of “old lady.”  I wasn’t angry or insulted.  It wasn’t the first time someone had critiqued the room.  A dear friend suggested it was too “dark.”  Can I help if it I like brown?  The pseudo-designer gave me a short list of things I could do, we swapped a few texts, and then she vanished into thin air.  After living here in this house for four years, the “old lady” assessment served as a “call to action.”  Thank goodness I am not entertaining anyone for Thanksgiving this year, what with all the dust flying.

Speaking of aging ladies, I looked over some of my older Thanksgiving posts.  I’m fond of this one.

It’s interesting to read blog posts I wrote before I moved back home.  They are filled with a melancholy longing to be in this place called “home.”

And now I’m here.

That was what I thought of this morning as the frigid light of the nearly full moon streamed into my bedroom.  Now I’m here.  I made it home.  How can I not be grateful?

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