A Quick Change of Plans

So, we canceled the fresh turkey we’d ordered before it even had a chance to make itself at home in the fridge. Thankfully, I hadn’t started baking pies…I don’t need the temptation of those hanging around this time of year! We’d already celebrated Thanksgiving in October (the Canadian one), so this was more about being together than observing the holiday itself. Still, it was disappointing.

With our original plans off the table…literally…we booked flights to visit our daughter. Every seat the day before Thanksgiving was taken, so we ended up flying on Thanksgiving Day. If you’ve never done that before, imagine a nearly empty airport where every hallway echoes, and you start wondering if you’ve stumbled into an alternative universe.

Our flight was delayed for hours, and when it finally boarded, there were only about sixteen people on it. One of them was coughing so violently that I started rethinking every decision I’d made that day. I avoided eye contact, wore my mask, and skipped the airplane bathroom after she used it.

We landed well after dark but were genuinely delighted to walk into our second home, where the sheets had been left clean, and everything smelled reassuringly familiar. It had all the comforts of our main house, in a much smaller space. There’s a quiet kind of relief when climbing into your own bed, especially after a day spent dodging airport germs and rethinking your life choices at Gate 42.

One of the small joys this weekend was spotting the pottery my husband and daughter made in a class they took together last summer. It was one of those weekly group classes that included clay under the fingernails, trashed jeans, and plenty of laughter over whose bowl was the most structurally unsound. They kept at it all season, and afterward, she had a few of his pieces glazed.

Seeing them lined up on the mantle made me smile. Each one slightly wobbly, a little thicker than it probably should be, and full of heart. There’s something deeply endearing about handmade things, especially when they’re made by people you love…people who don’t usually consider themselves the creative type.

What struck me most was how willing he was to try something new. That’s not always easy as we get older. We find what works, stick with it, and before long, anything unfamiliar starts to feel like more trouble than it’s worth.

But there’s something to be said for doing something just because it’s interesting, even if the results are a little uneven. It doesn’t have to lead anywhere or turn into a new hobby. Sometimes it’s just about staying open. And maybe ending up with a lopsided little pot that makes you smile every time you walk by.

That got me thinking about the cable sweater I’d left behind in Vancouver in October. It’s currently sitting on two cables and a set of needles, which definitely qualifies as a challenge. I was actually looking forward to getting back to it…until I took it out of my knitting bag and laid it out to see where I’d left off.

Whatever confidence I had vanished on the spot. I’d finally memorized the pattern before I stopped, but now it looked like something a much more patient version of me had been working on. There were strands crossing everywhere, and I couldn’t make sense of what row I was on. I sat with it for a minute, then quietly folded it back up like it hadn’t happened, and began thinking about starting a new project. It’s still sitting there, winking at me from the corner by my chair. I haven’t given up…I’m just working up the courage to dive back in.