It's the Wednesday before the American holiday of Thanksgiving and after a long hard year of work I am taking my first day off in a long time. Of course there are a couple things to do for the office that I will do from my living room. And the crush of my burgeoning and lucrative freelance career continues to vise my time.
Thanksgiving is a nice holiday. A time to bring family and friends together and cook and eat and, hopefully, laugh. My kids are home from their respective universities and no matter how often I see them, it's not often enough. They are older now--25 and 21--and it's been a pleasure to see them grow and flourish.
I had read somewhere that a parent's job is to give his kids "roots and wings," and I think I've been successful, so far, in doing that. They are soaring, yet they come home.
With all this going on, having written over 400 posts this year, I thought I'd maybe take the next few days off. Maybe in that I'm away from the office, I'll have nothing to write about.
But writing is what I do. It's who I am.
It's my work. But it's not work for me. It's mental exercise and I love it.
So maybe I won't write the next few days.
But maybe I will.