POST-TURKEY TIDINGS

Sunset with duck…

Well, another Thanksgiving has passed and the leftovers are dwindling. That isn't, by the way, a complaint regarding leftovers, which I love…possibly more than the actual feast. I'm simply thinking about how the month of November is winding down, autumn is having its last hurrah, and this particular day has come and gone—twilight having given way to starlit darkness more than an hour ago.

But then, oh, what a glorious day it has been! Nearly 50˚F, no wind, with vast blue skies and brilliant sunshine. The sort of day that could too easily become habit-forming, and which at the very least, you'd like to see repeats of hanging around until the seasons officially change. 

Here along the river, these post-Thanksgiving days have been busy. Myladylove and I have been constructing a cobblestone hearth in the great room for a woodstove, which at the moment is parked in its cardboard carton and shipping shrink-wrap, in front of one of the bookcases. There are also a couple of red-cedar 4x4x8s stacked along one wall, boxes of nails, tubes of construction adhesive, and various tools scatted about, all of which gives the room a rather industrial warehousey under-construction ambience—not the sort of place we need to be starting to decorate for Christmas. Not to mention we have no idea where we'll put the tree. 

Finally, here's a recently acquired piece of friendly advice: If, during the middle of a dark November night, you should submit to the urge to toddle through your own living room on some now-forgotten errand—a room in which a similar cast-iron stove is sitting in the way…DO NOT, in your sleepy stupidity, look upon said cast-iron lump and give it a careless bump with your hip, as if it were an overstuffed chair you might shove out of the way. Cast iron woodstoves cannot be pushed around and intimidated. Cast iron stoves are heavy, solid, and more durable than bodily flesh. And until you have the thing seated safely on its hearth, give it a wide berth. Neither pooch nor spouse will appreciate being startled awake by your wounded howls. Nor will the cast-iron woodstove care.