On the Way to Thanksgiving

I am in the throes of Thanksgiving madness--making lists, braving the mobs at Whole Foods and the Reading Terminal Market, organizing the fridge to receive all the bounty and, of course, starting to cook whatever can be done ahead of time. We will be 22 this year at the table--Liz and Giul, my nephews, my brother-in-law, a whole cast of friends and family. I love this holiday and all our home grown traditions. We'll play charades after dinner, pick at the leftovers all day Friday, go out to the movies together over the weekend. And, of course, we'll rehash the dinner and the weekend on Sunday when it's quiet and empty in the house at last. Nothing left to do but laundry.

I picture myself doing all those things. I imagine it will be like walking along a very high and narrow bridge across a deep pool of rapidly flowing water. I have to get to the other side but I must be very careful not to fall, not to falter. That would be dangerous, possibly fatal. Once on a hiking trip in New Zealand far away from home I had to walk across a bridge suspended high above a powerful mountain stream, the water rushing over huge boulders in a loud roar. The bridge swayed in the wind and shook with every step I took. No turning back. I had to get to the other side. I looked straight across not daring to look down. When I made it across I laughed with relief and then wondered what the hell I was doing.

That's what I ask myself now. What the hell am I doing?