(no subject)
Holidays, when I think of them, usually spark memories of living with the grandparents. Those were my only really good ones. The only ones I wanted to remember, for years. Too many holidays spent on the road, eating TV dinners, or sitting in a Denny's with a collection of people I barely knew.
Observing the traditional rituals became too much of a hassle.
I remember spending one Thanksgiving with only Kurt Loder and several MTV camera and sound technicians for company. We ate poorly reheated turkey from silver catering trays made of flimsy foil, and watched the rain fall outside. Kurt and I argued the merits of David Bowie versus the Rolling Stones, amusing ourselves.
This year, I wasn't allowed to wall myself off from the world, and soak in miserable, temperamental behavior. Not that I wanted to. The kitchen was flush with the scents of sage and rosemary. I sat on the floor, with Crayola crayons in my hands. Snatches of songs half-formed floated out of the kitchen. Tori sang while she cooked. She indulged me when I'd occasionally wander in, stirred to hunger by the smell of food and the sounds of happiness.
The three of us have felt like family for bits and peices of perfect time. Today was twenty-four hours of family, and couldn't have been closer to perfection. I think I'll sleep through the night tonight.
What am I thankful for on this, the day for giving thanks?
My family. My lady, her daughter, and me. Together. The simple luxury of a sweet little girl being comfortable enough to fall asleep with her head in my lap at the end of a fulfilling day. Coloring on the floor with her.
Dancing in the kitchen with Tori after helping her clean up. Kissing her until the both of us were short of breath.
Observing the traditional rituals became too much of a hassle.
I remember spending one Thanksgiving with only Kurt Loder and several MTV camera and sound technicians for company. We ate poorly reheated turkey from silver catering trays made of flimsy foil, and watched the rain fall outside. Kurt and I argued the merits of David Bowie versus the Rolling Stones, amusing ourselves.
This year, I wasn't allowed to wall myself off from the world, and soak in miserable, temperamental behavior. Not that I wanted to. The kitchen was flush with the scents of sage and rosemary. I sat on the floor, with Crayola crayons in my hands. Snatches of songs half-formed floated out of the kitchen. Tori sang while she cooked. She indulged me when I'd occasionally wander in, stirred to hunger by the smell of food and the sounds of happiness.
The three of us have felt like family for bits and peices of perfect time. Today was twenty-four hours of family, and couldn't have been closer to perfection. I think I'll sleep through the night tonight.
What am I thankful for on this, the day for giving thanks?
My family. My lady, her daughter, and me. Together. The simple luxury of a sweet little girl being comfortable enough to fall asleep with her head in my lap at the end of a fulfilling day. Coloring on the floor with her.
Dancing in the kitchen with Tori after helping her clean up. Kissing her until the both of us were short of breath.