Not my black friday

The thump of a bird bouncing off the slider wakes me from a dream in which I'm trying to make improvements in a residential program I haven't worked in for 15 years. Yesterday, the settler's  holiday here in New England was comprised of some text messages, a video conference call with my mother and siblings, reading about traveling through the former Soviet republics and sleeping. In my family, Thanksgiving has always been a holiday in which everyone makes an effort to come home. There's a good feeling attached to it. For others, the day is called the National Day of Mourning. Some people you know scoff over that. Other people you know feel it deeply. For me, it was a quiet day, just upbeat enough to stay afloat. 

More quiet today. 

More time spent watching the song birds get pushed out by the jays that get pushed out but by the squirrels. All of them somehow finding a way to eat.