The steel grey sky hangs over the small black pond, supported by the dark brown barren tree trunks that were not felled by the most recent storm. Even inside the house it feels damp and chilly. It feels like life is finally catching up.

There was the campaign, the storm, the death of my mother, the long days without electricity, the election, a high school reunion, Thanksgiving, and stress at the office. I've kept my head down and pushed onward, like I would as a child coming home in a blizzard.

At night, I go to bed early, exhausted. My dreams haven't been tormented but they've been complicated; intricate and chaotic. They flee in the morning, leaving little but additional fatigue and a sense of… A sense of what? It isn't dread or foreboding, nor is it of some happy resolution just around the corner. No, there's something more to come, I just don't know what.

So, I rest. I try to find moments to write. My mother's death has left me reflective, and I think back on the Thanksgivings of my childhood. As a kid, there would be nuts and grapes. There would be celery with peanut butter or with cream cheese. There would be pillow mints. We would snack on this as we watched the Thanksgiving Day parade on our small little black and white television.

My mother would be busy in the kitchen. The turkey would be cooking. She always covered it with bacon. I guess that was to keep the white meat from being dry, but we always viewed that as the best part and would snitch pieces of bacon off the bird when it was taken out of the oven. We would have five kernels of corn to remember the Pilgrim's Thanksgiving. We would make turkeys and pilgrim hats out of construction paper. Living in Massachusetts, the shadow of the pilgrims was always near by.

Years passed. I went off to college and would come home for Thanksgiving. I remember heading off to church on Thanksgiving morning. I would sing, "Now thank we all our God." It reminded me of my earlier days and hymns I imagined my pilgrim ancestors might have sung. I got a job and moved to New York City. Some years, I cooked Thanksgiving dinner with friends in New York. The first time, I didn't find where the giblets where in the neck cavity and they cooked in a plastic bag inside the turkey.

Other times I would come home for Thanksgiving. It was during those years that I started skiing avidly. Jiminy Peak often would open on Thanksgiving day, sometimes just with a single run available. I would ski hard all morning and then come home with a large appetite for the Thanksgiving dinner.

Eventually, the trips to Williamstown subsided as I had Thanksgiving dinner with my own children. One year, during my divorce, I had Thanksgiving dinner with relatives of some friends. I was the wounded stranger. I sat at the Thankgsgiving table, trying to make conversation while I suffered from deep depression. Soon afterwards I met Kim. Her mother died before Thanksgiving so we had our first Thanksgiving dinner together at an inn in Vermont. It was a difficult time for both of us.

Yet time rolled on, healing old wounds and bringing new ones. Mostly, we had Thanksgiving Dinner with Kim's family. One year, we rented a house out on Cape Cod and had a large family gathering there. We walked on the cold wind swept beeches. We visited the Pilgrim's Tower. We even put oysters in some of the stuffing.

This year, we had Thanksgiving dinner at Kim's parents' house. It was quiet and uneventful. I drifted off into a turkey induced slumber afterwards. Yesterday, we gathered at the house of some friends in Woodbridge for a 'day after Thanksgiving' gathering that was also quite enjoyable.

Now, the sky outside has darkened. The wind has picked up and the dog as barking at something unknown out in the dark. Soon, we will have dinner and I'll see what sort of dreams tonights sleep brings.