I don’t think I mentioned anywhere that I had a lovely Thanksgiving. The big yellow farmhouse is full of warmth and life, and the nearly overwhelming energy of a certain twelve year old boy was nicely balanced by the calm that is my father and my handsome grey cat. It’s still home. And it’s so nice to know that. I also know that I will always have a board game buddy for the holidays.
Being an aunt is pretty great. I’ve always thought aunts were an awesome category of human beings, anyway. It’s nice to be one.
Also, my brother makes a great turkey, even when heating resources are limited and dodgy at best. Thanks, Sabin.
So now Christmas (or what have you) is in full swing. If you want to get me a gift, which is super nice of you, maybe you could donate to any of these fine folks, instead. I’d really like that.
- the NEDA (a direct link to their donations page)
- your local historical society or library
- your local no-kill animal shelter
- the American Diabetes Association
Go bring a canned good or two (something nice, please!) to your foodshelf or donate a pint of blood. Volunteer your time or your talent or your services. Have tea with someone who wants company. Write letters to your congressmen about whatever it is you believe in. That’s all good stuff, as far as I’m concerned.
I’m also kind of selfish and would really like some nice opal jewelery, or books involving either vegan dessert recipes or Abe Lincoln, or odd little nature-related bits and ephemera (seashells, animal bones, rocks, old maps, that sort of thing).
While we’re still sort of on the subject of charity, I am currently employed by Goodwill. It’s pretty ok. I consistently feel accomplished (and sometimes tired) after my shift. There is one ultra important thing I have learned, though. We cannot sell library books. If you somehow end up with unwanted library books, do not, I REPEAT DO NOT donate them to Goodwill. They will get thrown away. I threw away boxes of old books. It made me cry. I don’t want to do it ever again. I know your heart’s in the right place, but please oh please find another home for them. Make art with them. Bring them to a shelter. Burn them in your woodstove if you must, but please don’t make me throw away any more books. My little heart can’t stand it.