Black Friday

Like a barely contained classroom full of energetic middle schoolers, America roars back to life today. I know this because my email inbox is overflowing with the shouting, tap-dancing, jumping up and down of "Sale! Sale! Sale!" We Americans could barely stand it that for one day when we all had to come inside and talk nicely to each other. Mind our manners. Be whatever version of Norman Rockwell models we could tolerate being, and pretend we care more about community than we do about commerce.

And some of my friends really do care more about the family at the feast than they do about Black Friday's doorbusters and good deals. I know this because my Facebook feed is full of really great pictures. My friends are lovely people. Their days looked a lot like this.

My 2017 Thanksgiving Feast held fewer people. It needed to this year. 

This year, to own the truth, I set a somewhat bad example for the good home-and-family-minded people. While the turkey cooked, I went down the hill and used my key to the store. Our store. Mine and Meg's. I took with me the only family member who could be pried loose from the house, and we stood in the space and looked at the leftovers from the previous tenants and figured out what needs to happen next. It's disagreeable. It's exciting. It's the mess in the kitchen after someone else's experiments. It's the place where we're really going to cook.

What is that wall made of? Where does that gas line go? Why is that outlet poked so far out into the room? Where can the wifi come from?

In the post right before this one I said North Bank Books would be coming to Stevenson in 2018, but in the time since I told you the plan -- in the days since that long-distant day (a whole nine days ago) -- one of the best spots in town came available, and we decided to jump. 

There will be a bookstore in Stevenson

by the middle of December, 2017. 

I got back to the house yesterday in time to take the turkey out of the oven before it was incinerated. I seared the Brussels sprouts and balsamicked them. I melted butter in 1/2 & 1/2 and poured it on the potatoes someone else was mashing and threw in some salt, and I made flour-free gravy from the pan drippings and the backbone and giblet broth. I made a huge cookery mess. And we feasted. And we enjoyed each other's company. Me, the Great Husband, the Son, and the Uncle. Four people, enough food for twice as many, and some good wine. 

And all the while I sat and talked and laughed, while I whipped the cream for the pumpkin experiment, while I made some more coffee, my brain was buzzing, humming, acting like a crazed email list sender. Coupons. Ads. Where shall we put the Brown Badger books?

I still loathe Black Friday sales and the commercial insanity of our wealth-worshipping country. I am NOT going to be leaving the house today or any other Friday after Thanksgiving to join a line outside a store so I can get my piece of the holiday scraps cheap. I don't want to earn my own Good Customer merit badge. And when North Bank Books is up and running, we probably won't be open the day after Thanksgiving. 

But I bet we'll be in there. Me and Meg. Putting holly and ivy on the dragon.