Thanksgiving has always held a small, special place in a dark corner of my dead little heart. I don't know exactly why. Perhaps it's because, for many years, it was time spent with my family, back when my grandmother was still alive, back when the entire family got along and wasn't embroiled in one spat or another (some of which have now gone on so long that most of my extended family members no longer speak to one another).
Perhaps it's because I have fond memories of waking up to watch the Macy's parade, a tradition I still continue as I slowly lurch my way into middle age. This year, I took off the Wednesday night before Thanksgiving specifically so I can sleep and get up early to watch the parade.
Perhaps it's because during my formative years, it was always a week I had off school (depending on whatever school district I was part of at the time, it was either the full week or a partial week), a week I could mostly detach from the world.
Perhaps it's because Thanksgiving, and the Black Friday that always follows, ushers in the beginning of the Christmas season.
There were several years in a row, even during times where I didn't have much money, that I went to bed early on the night of Thanksgiving, getting up at 3AM to go Black Friday shopping in the cold darkness either by myself or with my ex and her mother, the latter of whom was absolutely thrilled by the hunt of the chase. My Dirt Devil stick vac, which I used in four different residences in three different states until I tossed it upon moving into this house, was a $12 Black Friday deal at Target in 2007 or '08. I'm sure there are a few other notable Black Friday purchases around the house still -- my Blu-ray player was one of them, for example, a $50 impulse buy from Walmart in Kansas when I went to pick up cigarettes at 2AM one year after Black Friday had ended.
At age 35, while I am still to some extent a consumer whore, I haven't the slightest interest in Black Friday shopping.
"Wife," I said to Daisy, "just in case you were interested or had any plans..." I began, even though I already knew she didn't, "...there's only one item in any Black Friday ad I've seen that I'm remotely interested in."
"Oh?"
"Walmart has the newest, best Roku for $49," I said. "That's half off."
"Okay," she said, not really looking up from whatever she was doing.
And that was the extent of our Christmas shopping discussion.
As for Daisy, I'm done shopping for her already; the last of her gifts arrive here this week.
It doesn't really matter anyhow. I told her that she didn't need to get me anything, but if she wanted to, the only stuff I wanted was that aforementioned Roku and two more pairs of the jeans I like from Duluth Trading Company. I have Amazon Prime -- believe me, if there's anything I can't live without, I order it and it gets here in two days, with the delivery drivers texting me a picture of it sitting on my doorstep when it arrives.
What a glorious new century we live in.
As you all know, Christmas has always been far from my favorite time of year, at least since I've been an adult. I've had some good ones, yes, and I've also had some awful ones. My birthday falling five days beforehand doesn't usually help much either. I've pretty much stopped trying to celebrate my birthday much as of late over the past few years. About the most I do these days is try to make it the first day I take off over the course of the holidays when I burn the most PTO possible to not have to enter the building between my birthday and after Christmas. Winter in Nebraska sucks, there's still three months of it to deal with after Christmas is over, and as most of you know, I'm an atheist, so there's not much spiritual comfort I get out of the holidays.
But I'm getting ahead of myself.
Thanksgiving this year will be just us and Daisy's parents, with maybe a longtime family friend joining us. I'm okay with this; I'm looking forward to the downtime more than anything else. I never get any real time with Daisy or her parents anymore, and that time has lessened more that we've moved into this new house, since there's always something else to be done when it comes to upkeep or cleaning,
It also isn't lost on me that it was 12 years ago this week that I moved to the midwest and my, shall we say, independent life started. I lived with my ex and/or her family for the first five years of that, and for the past seven I've either lived on my own or with my wife. There are bits and pieces of that time and all of the places I've lived scattered around the house, from furniture of different sorts to more sentimental items like clothing or small electronics. There is very little I brought out here with me from West Virginia in that initial move that has still survived -- less than ten items of clothing, an engraved lighter my mother gave me as a college graduation gift, an old laptop (that still works, by the way), a knife or two, etc. I do still have my old cell phone I bought 12 years ago this month, an old Nokia prepaid phone, just in the event that I might need it in an emergency, even though I probably never will.
As I mentioned in my last post, I sold my truck.
I wasn't exactly sorry to see it go, but I wasn't exactly not sorry either. I got something like $880 out of it, I can't remember the exact number. The entire experience was miserable, to be honest with you. They sent the people to pick it up at the wrong time on the wrong day, said people thought I was donating and not selling it (so they had to cut me a check on the spot), and I had no tools readily available to remove the plates, so we had to call and make an appointment to go to the junkyard I'd sold it to after the fact and get the plates the next day -- thankfully the wife and her parents did that, and I am grateful they did so.
Apparently I can turn in the plates to the DMV with my registration and get a small refund on the registration. At some point. I don't exactly know how it works and I've been too fried and exhausted to research it. Also, it's not like I could do it on my own, because, well, no vehicle. Except for weekends, whenever I'm home, I'm either asleep or the wife is at work...with the car.
I'll get something new to drive eventually. I was telling Daisy tonight how I may hold out for the new 2020 Bronco, as it looks beautiful.
Here's hoping they keep the removable cap.
Work continues, both in and out of the house. With the new door on the closet now, Daisy's new project is to paint the inside of the closet before we put our clothing in there. So yes, for the past two months now, I've been living out of clothing boxes and tubs with no free access to my actual clothing. To be fair, boxes still fill a good chunk of the house -- boxes of the wife's clothing line the bedroom and boxes of books and other office things line her office. There are still three small boxes in the kitchen, and probably 20 or more in the garage of stuff that needs to be put away, with six or seven more in the living room. I don't know where all of this stuff is going to go, to be honest with you. I got rid of most of my worldly possessions when we moved into this house, simply so I could sell it for cash and so I wouldn't have to move it -- the wife did not. She got rid of some stuff, yes, but not nearly the amount I did. My mother has asked me repeatedly for pictures of the interior of the house, but well, until everything's put the fuck away and unpacked properly I can't really snap any, as it's not really attractive photography to have boxes scattered everywhere.
The cats have adjusted well to their new home; they seem to enjoy having all the new extra space and new hiding spots/new places to sleep, and overall seem to be getting along better. I purchased a new water fountain for them when we moved in, and set that up a few weeks ago -- to them I think it's a calming piece of home, an anchor that lets them know they're safe and this is where they belong.
As for us, well, it's felt like home since we settled in, but I'm still getting used to owning a house instead of writing someone a rent check every month. It'll take a bit more getting used to, I'm sure, before everything feels completely normal. Once we're all unpacked and settle in over the winter months, it'll be more comforting instead of alien and strange, or like a hotel we're just occupying. We'll see.
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