Natalie brought me to an amazing sushi/potluck Thanksgiving. I spent much time in the kitchen making the sushi, thus ensuring a repeat invite next year. Someone contributed a turkey with a duck in it (this I discovered in conversation, not by inspecting its innards). There was a sacrificial fire in a welded flower firepit made for the occasion, and the hostess introduced this thanksgiving ritual: everyone wrote on a little paper something he or she was thankful for (the French have a gender neutral pronoun that doesn't turn you into an inanimate object. I suppose I'm not keeping with the Thanksgiving spirit by being pissy about it, but it's necessary to sublimate one's disgust surrounding the history of the holiday if one wants to have a proper, celebratory Thanksgiving anyway; so best I merely expel my pissiness on pronouns and get on with things) .. on etait thankful for. (maybe that's right. it's been only about eighteen years since I studied French. And I doubt the French let you stick a preposition at the end of a sentence either.)
Anyway, then we each took a rose petal (representing things for which to be grateful) and a piece of a smashed up coconut (ego, things to be let go) and were instructed to approach the fire, say a little prayer if desired, and drop the lot inside. "I ate my ego" said one guest, en route to the fire. I had taken a small piece of coconut, broken it in half and returned part of it, concerned there wouldn't be enough to go around. Oops.
Yesterday I went on the lunch ride at Sunset Ranch with Sharon and Lou and various members of their entourage. Appropriately, I rode a mustang who wouldn't stay in a single file line and, as a parting gesture, smashed me into a solid wall of rock.
Till next time.
Will be throwing much coconut into flame.