The Morning After Thanksgiving

I wake up from a full night’s rest. The air on my face has a chill to it, I can already tell that it’s cold outside, and my duvet feels safe and comforting. The smells of the previous day have not fully dissipated in the house. Candles, casseroles, turkey, and ham. After reflecting on the previous day, my thoughts drift to what’s in store for today. But the day ahead has no agenda, and I close my eyes in the pleasure of that thought. I take a deep breath in and smile to myself. 

It’s supposed to snow for the first time this season today. Three to six inches is what the meteorologist is saying. I’ll believe that when I see it. But it definitely is darn cold outside. I can feel it in my bones somehow.  

I step out of bed and put on a comfortable sweatshirt, a pair of maroon joggers, and some wool socks. I throw on a knit hat for extra comfort and warmth. As quietly as possible, I prepare to brew myself some coffee using beans gifted to me after my best friend’s recent trip to Japan. Beans grown in Ethiopia traveled to Osaka, to Tucson, to Kansas City, to St. Joseph, to Omaha, and finally to my cup this morning here. The morning after Thanksgiving. 

I make my coffee (it smells so good), and grab the book off my nightstand that I started reading last night before bed and head into our reading room. I read. I sip my coffee with delight. I pause to journal various thoughts as they come to me. 

Sarah remains asleep in bed. The boys are up and fairly independent of me this morning. Attitudes are calm and peaceful. I sip my coffee with delight. 

After spending some time reading I participate in perhaps one of my favorite holiday rituals — pie for breakfast. I have options this morning, but not really. There’s lemon meringue, there’s apple, there’s coffee cake, but there’s really only one that I’m interested in this morning: the chocolate pie. 

It will forever remind me of my grandma. She would always allow me to have a slice of her chocolate pie for breakfast when we’d come visit her in the summers or over the holidays. Eating a slice of chocolate pie for breakfast feels a bit rebellious, and I think that makes it taste all the better.