My family was here today, all twenty of us, for Thanksgiving. As each family bustled through the door, laden with food & children, our old farmhouse felt smaller and smaller.
When the last of them had left, over eight hours later, I cannot tell a lie: I was glad.
It had been a good day, as family gatherings go. Things went right far more often than I had expected. I had forgotten far fewer things than I had feared. Children played happily and toys were shared, mostly. The food all turned out well, even the impromptu supper. There was laughter and talking and the coffee did not run out. Nothing broke. No one was mean (not even the grownups). Toys were cleaned up and toilets flushed the way they're supposed to (not something to be taken for granted in an old farmhouse!).
But I am a quiet person. Oh, I can talktalktalk with the best of them, as my children, who regularly eavesdrop on my phone conversations, can attest. But when it comes down to it, what I need after a good talk, is a good silence.
So while I enjoyed having them all here, I am also enjoying my quiet house, flickering candle, and the comforting presence of my Farmer, who also likes a good dose of quiet, reading beside me at the kitchen table.
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