QUIET ON THE HOME FRONT -
It is quiet, too quiet this Thanksgiving morning. We have not wrestled with a slippery heavy turkey, washing and cleaning it, seasoning it, stuffing it and putting it in the oven.
There are dishes that aren't being used and still in the cabinets. The china, the silverware, and the crystal reside in their usual resting place.
The dining room table doesn't sport its fall cloth and is full of items still waiting to put away from where I dropped them on my trips home. The crowns from Christ the King Sunday are still on the table.
There are no warm smells emmanating from the oven or the sizzle of the turkey roasting, or from the stuffing and stock made the day or two before. There are no potatoes to be scrubbed and peeled, no cheeseball and crackers, no sweet potatoes to be microwaved.
It is quiet, all too quiet for Thanksgiving. There is a deadness which reflects the deadness in our lives. And I miss the hustle and bustle, and the getting ready, and the smells wafting through the house, and looking forward to receiving the company of family.
It is quiet, all too quiet, this year.