Looking back, I will remember our first Thanksgiving together as the day I successful put together the standing oval mirror and organized Keith's closet so his ACUs and PTs are laid out in a logical and economical way. Short sleeved shirts are to the back of the closet, summer clothes are in a box labeled as such and waiting to be stacked in the recesses of another closet.
I did a great deal more than that; I seem to have been caught up in some kind of unpacking frenzy. Driven by an insatiable need to organize, ruthlessly clear and create coziness, I tottered from one room to the other with my steak knife in hand, ripping open boxes and dealing mercilessly with the contents.
Up and down the stairs I went. If I came across a pair of pliers that belonged in the garage, I went down the stairs to return it to the garage. If it was time to take the clothes out of the dryer, I went down three flights to get it and took three empty boxes with me, then carried the clean clothes back up three flights.
We are stacking the empty boxes along one wall in the basement, in case we move again in a year, into a house we buy. The idea of going through this again in a year is so awful as to be unspeakable and I only mention it as being the technical reason, not an actual indication of future action. As a side note, the wall of boxes literally reaches to the unfinished ceiling and is two boxes deep. If we needed insulation down there, it would sure come in handy.
Keith, in the meantime, was hard at work on his "man room," hooking up wires and electronics, moving stuff around and dealing with piles and piles of boxes of his own. He also went out on expeditions for needed supplies, such as lighters for the candles, hung pictures, dragged around heavy crap that I couldn't budge and helped me sort through his clothing. He actually agreed to throw away a shirt or two.
At some point Keith had to lure me away from the boxes by whispering sweet nothings into my ear and easing the steak knife from my hand. He spoke in low, even tones as one would to the mentally unstable. I may or may not have been called a crazy kitten.
We then had a Thanksgiving meal of hamburgers grilled outside in the freezing rain with a side of mac 'n cheese. They were pretty darn good, I have to say. I then stacked the dishes in the sink and went back to unpacking.
Here's a few paragraph's from last year's Thanksgiving, just for contrast:
It snowed outside today, big lazy flakes that came leisurely down, caught briefly in the street lights and then melted immediately upon hitting the ground. I am now drinking hot cocoa and listening to Mozart's Requiem in D Minor, the perfect accompaniment to my quiet and nostalgic Thanksgiving.
So many of the residents were out with family that we were able to fill only one half of the dining room for dinner and complete at least two thirds of the puzzle left temptingly out by the staff center. It is ostensibly for the residents, but several of us care managers are drawn to it and at any given time, one or more of us can be found bent over the scrubbed wooden table, frowning in concentration.
All evening long the residents trickled back in from dinner out with their families. They came bundled up, muffled with scarfs, their glasses at a funny angle from their hats. Stuffed to the gills, they hobbled their way to their rooms to fall into a deep and peaceful sleep, blessed by turkey and winter air.
Keith called me yesterday around six am. I was sunk so heavily into sleep that I could not move for a few moments, lay instead dizzily hearing the phone ring before I could heave myself over to grab it. I don't remember much of the conversation, I do remember I was not a lively participant in it.
I thought of last year's Thanksgiving as I looked up from my hamburger to see my husband's face at the table with me. He's looking rather shaggy. When we tell people, for instance the landlord, that Keith is military, they look doubtful. I do love the beard though, as I think I might have mentioned before.
When I was putting his ACUs in the closet today, it was almost strange to see them. It seems like forever since he's worn them. He reports for duty in about a week and a half and then life really will get back to normal.
Right now though, there are almost no boxes in my bedroom, the pictures are on the wall and the suitcases are completely empty and stacked high up in the hall closet. I can't even stand to look at them.
The wood glue is probably dry on the table I've been fixing (the movers broke it) so I'll get back to putting it together. And then I'll use it for more bathroom storage and organize the soaps and lotions. And then...'
And then I'll go to bed, one very tired girl, thankful and blessed to have my soldier close beside me in our new home.
