We're getting ready to head into town. The dogs have gone bonkers about a group of deer passing by. When I let them out, they charged the little herd, but, as deer do in the fall, instead of running off, they not only stood their ground, but assumed threatening stances and gaits and advanced en masse on the now-alarmed doggies, who ran back to the house and turned to bark instead from the relative safety of the stoop. I have a photo... Later.

Thanksgiving was madness. I hadn't planned to be here on the holiday. All year I'd planned to take Brian and attend some community function somewhere, spare myself the cooking and baking, immerse myself in mass chitchat so I'd be less likely to grieve the passing of family gatherings, the extinction a tradition. But alas, all there was out there was a one-hour dinner at the Christian Life Assembly.

Instead, then, because our neighbor P.J. had put off her return to Los Angeles until Sunday, at the last minute I invited her over. She supplied the thawed duckling, I supplied turkey wings (and a chicken I never got around to roasting), and I spent the day cooking after all. But a month's worth of neglected housekeeping had to be remedied first, and so the whole day was a chaos, a disorganized mess of activity, ending finally, though, with big plates piled with feast before a crackling fire in the gathering dark, only about 4 hours later than I'd predicted. The duckling was sumptuous, the giblet gravy first-rate (after I strained out a few unfortunate lumps), and the pies: my first effort at sweet potato-pecan pie turned out to be the best pie I've ever made, notwithstanding the pastry tantrum I threw along about 11:45, and the substitutions of lemon extract for missing vanilla, walnuts for missing pecans, and maple syrup for (thankfully) missing Karo syrup.

P.J. was terrific company, and the hysterical level of daylong activity left little time for gloomy thoughts. Brian, who had partied the day before at his activity center, was surprised and delighted by the second round of feasting.

It rained all night, and threatens to rain all day. I'm glad Gunter is stashed understairs; he'd freeze in the greenhouse. Ranger, though, out in his pen, will not be a happy camper. He never seems to get the fact that there are two little houses he can shelter in, and instead stands miserably out in all manner of precipitation to stare longingly toward the house. I can't leave him inside the house when I leave for the store, though, as I do the other dogs, so I may take him with me in the van. Only I can't, because I just remembered I have to bring home a bale of hay for the llamas today. Those pesky deer have had their own feast down in the pasture.

Big shopping day, I'm told. So off we go.
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