Happy Fakesgiving!

There is snow in Seattle. Inches of snow, right on my balcony. In the 5 winters I previously lived in this town, I'd never seen more than a dusting. And a dusting is enough to shut down the city. Seriously. There are no snow plows or salt trucks here, because there is rarely a need. The temperatures don't drop below freezing very often. So the winters are grey and rainy, but hardly ever snowy.
Well, here we are in mid-November with inches of snow on the ground. The temperature outside is about 23 degrees. We're supposed to be feeling a low of 14 degrees tonite. Unheard of! Though the sky now is blue as can be, so the snow has stopped falling. And the streets below me are white and brown and somewhat slushy. I expect there are many businesses closed around town. There are hardly any cars driving along 3rd Avenue. I think everyone is staying home under the covers today.
Which is my plan. I moved to Seattle to escape below-freezing temperatures. Meggy don't play in 23 degrees. And I've got enough Fakesgiving leftovers to last me & Alex a week, thanks to my mama. Oh, Mama!
My mom came for a pre-Thanksgiving visit last week. And we had a wonderful time. The weather cooperated, so we were able to take some walks down to the market and along the waterfront. We were even able to see most of Mt Ranier, which is unusual in November. We had a waterfront dinner in a restaurant that already got their holiday-decor going on, with dozens of 6-foot nutcrackers and lit trees and life-size Santas. We went to a happy hour with my ladies, saw a wonderful show at the Seattle Rep, and we had a moon every night she was here, which, for me and my mom, is always an event. We're moon-babies, no doubt. All of my mother's children are moon-babies. Alex makes fun of me, because every time I see it, I respond like it's the first time, and I squeal, "The Moooooooon!!" And to see a full moon rise behind Capitol Hill is enough to make us go gaga. The full moon rose on Sunday, which was the night we had our Fakesgiving dinner. Since we can't be with her on Thanksgiving day, Mom decided that she'd like to make an early Thanksgiving dinner while she was here. We spent the weekend baking pies and corn muffins and roasting vegetables and sweet potatoes. And we were able to watch the Browns game Sunday morning (though they lost it in the end in a most upsetting manner), which is a treat for a Cleveland girl who has no access to their games in New Jersey (thank you, DirecTV Sunday Ticket). Sunday evening, Alex and the boys got to watch the Eagles move to the top of their division, while us ladies were in the kitchen, munching on cheese and olives and David's homemade guacamole, and as the game ended, the turkey was carved and dinner was served. 8 of us sat down to share a meal, and I couldn't help but think of the history at that table. There were elements of so many pieces of my life: my first family, my Emerson family, and my Seattle family. There was a time when the last thing I would have wanted was to share a meal with my mother and my friends. What could we possibly talk about? And now, I am honored to share my table with them all. Yes, Mama, we have gotten to that point, where we have become friends. Seems corny, but it makes me happy.
Yesterday, I drove her through the snow to the airport in my shiny red Camaro (which is not built for snow, let me tell you), and then I came home and made a huge pot of turkey soup and watched the snow fall on the city I now call home. It was kind of magical, actually. Even though I am still trying to get started here, even though I'm a bit scared that nothing is ever gonna happen...well, I felt a sense of peace, watching the world turn white, knowing how unusual such a sight is. Things feel right, somehow. My mother likes the place I live (though she would still prefer me to live a short drive away). I like the place I live. I have passed the stage of feeling like a visitor here. This place is home. Not this apartment, which I love, but which I know is not mine. (Especially as they just broke ground yesterday on the lot across the street from us to build a 17-story building which will completely remove my totally stunning view of the city.) This city feels like home. I have family here. Not blood-relations, but they are no less a family than my family back east. And that place back east also feels like home. I don't feel a need to choose one or the other. I don't feel a need to determine that THIS city is THE home that I will stay in for life. Who knows where I'll be a decade from now? And frankly, who cares? Today, I feel at home in this place. And I am so excited to go back home--my other home--in a month, for the holidays. And I look forward to coming back home--the one I'm writing from--to ring in the new year. I don't feel torn between the two places. The fact that my mom could come here and fit right in makes it clear to me that home truly is where the heart is. And my heart is where my people are. Which makes me one hell of a lucky girl.
Happy Thanksgiving. I wish for everyone a moment of peace and a sense of home. And a really good meal, with a whole lot of leftovers!!