Of essays, trebuchets, Thanksgiving, and giving thanks

That is a tabletop trebuchet. Yeah, a "trebuchet" is not just a font! They sell that kit at trebuchet.com, where my L'Ailee has been whiling away many happy moments. She's also enjoyed her new book, "The Art of the Catapult", just a little too much. She and some of her friends will be going to the country in September to build and use full-size trebuchets and catapults, and she's enjoyed the research. She feels that she deserved to make one, because her boss made her sit down and write an essay for the company newsletter. (It's actually very good, as some of you on the Blog-Sister-Friends list saw.) Everyone has an inner child; hers just looks and acts a lot like Dexter from Dexter's Laboratory.

L'Ailee and one of her friends didn't need a kit this afternoon. They built their mini-trebuchet using scrap lumber, from scratch. It is now proudly displayed in the middle of our dining room table, and my beautiful girl has shown no signs of being bored with it yet. And why use boring old weighted spheres, which the plans account for, when one can do things like hurl catnip mice across the room for our younger cats?

"I can paint that up and put some flowers on it, use it as a centerpiece," I suggested sardonically.
"Oh, that would be nice. It would be functional," she replied, just as sardonically.
"I could bring that to Virginia for Thanksgiving."
"Pass the salt!"
"Gimme a biscuit!"
"I wonder if I could adapt it to pass vegetables."
"You'll clean 'em off the wall if you don't get it right, not me."

My mom is already all excited because me and Dorkfish and our wives are coming to Virginia for Thanksgiving. It seems appropriate that she now lives in between my brother and I. Several of our Florida relatives are also coming. Mom is that bossy rich in personal power. She's persuaded us that Virginia in autumn is prettier than Florida. Virginia, the northern tip of it that serves as our nation's capitol, is also where the pandas and some of my online friends are. We can work with that.

Mom is saying how wonderful it is that she could live long enough to be served turkey and turducken by her son and side dishes and desserts by her daughter. I realize that a torch of tradition has been handed to us. Mom always handled Thanksgiving, but she couldn't come to Florida last year. The family saw (and tasted) that we learned a few things from our mom. It's an honor, it's scary, it's a world of work, it's fun to think about our own twists that we can add. The turducken is already a new tradition--my brother made the first one most of the relatives tasted last year.

And it's only August and people are talking to us about this! Too much pressure for a meal, I tell you. But of course it's more than that.

I'm actually sort of getting a jump on Thanksgiving anyway. Many of my Blogspot friends are dealing with parents who have cancer, or trouble at work, or partners who want "space." Me, I'm writing about trebuchets and blue dildoes. I have to remind myself that trouble has passed behind us and trouble is in front of us someplace, so I should be grateful for this moment in my life. I just wish I could share happiness with more people, for a very long time.

In the meantime, thanks be to all the spirits who look over us.