Thanksgiving Morning

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Happy Thanksgiving. The house is quiet, the only sound coming from water filtering through Charles’ fish tank, the only light emanating from my lap top. Hot tea brewed, steeping next to me. A horse ambles across the front field, I can’t see who it is, doesn’t matter as long as he’s ambling and not running. An occasional car rumbles down the dirt road, horses to be fed somewhere, only horsemen on the roads this early on the last Thursday of November. It looks crisp and clear outside, an outline of light pressing against the Blue Ridge Mountains in the distance. Rain subsided, everyone looking for a respite from the cold, knowing a long winter awaits.

My favorite part of the day is the morning, the two hours before my world bursts into chaos. I like the tranquility and the solitude of the house at this hour, it’s only time you can hear the fish tank. Prospects have yet to turn into projects.

Miles will be awake in an hour, maybe two. Hopefully two.

The first noise, his feet pattering across the wooden floor above my head, he wakes like he’s being chased. Some days, he cuddles with his mom. Other days, he sits down on the couch next to me. I write. He reads. His feet, burrowing, like two squirrels in a sack. School has changed this routine, we don’t have time to cuddle and burrow. Holidays and weekends bring it back. There is nothing like seeing your child in the morning, without a care, without a worry. Although, you always wish he would give you another hour. That’s life, always wishing for another hour.

Many projects spread across the burners of my life. Racing stable. Writing muse. Publishing empire. Bloodstock. Family. All need attention. It’s that time of year, a couple of months to give attention to the attendants, before it all returns to a boil in the spring. Saratoga will be here before we know it and, yes, we will be shocked again about how fast it has come around. As my grandmother used to say, “When I was young, the days were short and the years were long. Now, the days are long and the years are short.”

Yes, Granny Nora, the years do seem short.

Happy Thanksgiving – a moment to be thankful for those who are here and wistful for those who are not.