This Thanksgiving I’m grateful for the the fact that I’m with my two sisters. I’m at my sister Heelya and her boyfriend Brian’s place in Conway, S.C., which is a darling house, despite what happened last night.
The bed I’m lying in right now, tucked under layers of blankets next to PK, is so warm and plush. Even Heelya’s pug Owen snoring under the covers, is warm and plush. He’s curled up on my feet. I can feel his chin resting on my toes. My foot vibrates every time he breathes in.
It took PK and I nine hours and three tanks of gas to get here. I’m grateful that my old Honda held up. We took the back roads through the middle of Florida, passing every tumbledown neon fruit stand selling oranges and peanuts from Ocala to Jacksonville.
It’s chilly out and I’m grateful for that. The weather in South Carolina is at least 20 degrees cooler than Florida. We bundled up last night when we went out for Mexican food followed by beers at a bar called Fats, where we played darts and Baba O’Riley on the jukebox.
I’m grateful I filed at least one story for the newspaper before I left town, because last night when we got back to Heelya’s house, her front door was ajar, the window in her living room was shattered and my laptop with every assignment I’d ever written and every subject I’d ever photographed since August 2007, was stolen.
It was the only thing lifted.