Wednesday, November 21, 2012

gratitude: 2012

I wasn't going to blog today. Not going to blog this whole week (you lucky devils, you). Going to sit back. Take a little space. Plan my next move. 


But I realized it's the Wednesday before Thanksgiving. Thanksgiving Eve. And we have a tradition here at the Handbag, and as frustrated as I am over the state of all things Handbaggery, it's a tradition that will live on, damnit. 




SO:

Let's just get this right out of the way. I'm thankful for being healthy, for being mentally sound, for being fed, clothed, watered, sheltered.

But there's a lot more to life, no?



Like the quiet of the morning before the world wakes. The sun rising on the water, red in the sky, warm coffee in my hands.



Heavy-crusted bread. Eggs with runny yolks. Thick-cut bacon in a cast-iron skillet.  


A roaring fire, a glass of red wine. Tall bookshelves. Bourbon ice cream. Hand-rolled pie dough, bone-rich broth; a steak from the grill, well-seared and tender.





The market in the morning, brimming with baskets of fresh-picked apples, bundles of carrots, pints of potatoes, and bushels of bread. 

The market by the sea, lettered signs beckoning: lobsters, clams, oysters, scallops, perch, cod, haddock, hake, all packed on ice, newly pulled from the water.





Words on the page. Words in the air. Words running, hurtling, racing to pin them down before they drift away. 


Finding the words you want. Finding the words you need.






The right face in the lens. The whir of the shutter. 





Dangling earrings. Fitted dresses. Red pens. Turquoise. Hot apple cider, a mug of mulled wine. Aretha. John, Paul, George and Ringo. Katharine Hepburn. Cary Grant.  Patterned skirts. Hand-written letters. Oatmeal stouts, chocolate porters. AlbariƱo. Tempranillo. A fine fiddle player on the radio. 

The rolling hills, the green-grass fields. Sweet corn, fresh tomatoes. Driving past the fields with the windows down, classic rock on the radio. Painted barns, sturdy wooden fences. Home.




To recipes, to cookbooks, to grammar rules and stylebooks, to you, to me, to our wide world, to raising a glass to what matters.













Oh, and Derrick. 
 I GUESS.









(your turn.) 





8 comments:

  1. Yes, what you said--except my guy is named Nick :)
    Have a fabulous Thanksgiving.

    ReplyDelete
  2. Agreed with all of the above. Even the Derrick part. I'm sure he's a HOOT.

    Except the red pens... I have distressing memories of red pens. And I've discovered recently I am NOT a red person.

    Breakfast at Target edition to follow. :D

    ReplyDelete
  3. I truly adore your way with words. I could actually see so many of these descriptions.

    Also I think Handbaggery is a fabulous word. I may have to start using it.

    I hope you and the fam have an amazing holiday. And I hope Derrick doesn't have to work too long.

    ReplyDelete
  4. Good words. All of them. Very worthy things to be thankful for, thanks for taking us into your world for a moment.

    ReplyDelete
  5. I'm thankful that you remembered to do this, my Nicki-love! I thought that since you already did a Thanksgiving post that you were going to skip it this year. I'm thankful for wonderful friends who send me beautiful emails that make me feel loved when I feel cold and alone.

    Love you!

    ReplyDelete
  6. I agree with what you said. Allow me just to add: my chiddlers, my husband, my education, and chocolate chip cookies.

    Have a wonderful Thanksgiving! :)

    ReplyDelete
  7. Why is it that everything you write is beautiful? WHY? How do you...

    Okay, I'll stop. I'm not American but I'm thankful for the internet. Oh yeah, I'm that deep.

    I should stop trying. Haha!

    ReplyDelete
  8. Love :) Your blog always leaves me wanting to go to an oyster bake or a beer festival (though I went to one just last week!) so in my opinion that means that you're doing something right with this blog even if you are a little frustrated with it (as we all tend to be with our own). Happy Holidays, chica!

    ReplyDelete

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