Thanksgivingish svithe

A couple of weeks ago I decided to resurrect the journal I'd been keeping on my computer. Because it turns out that I've gotten so used to keyboards that the idea of actually having to laboriously write . . . out . . . words . . . on . . . paper just seems tortuous. Especially since most of the things I want to say already exist in e-form on a blog or email. And really, shouldn't we be to the point now where we can just stick a USB cable in our ear and beam the stuff onto a laptop? C'mon!

I tried to go back to the paper journals because I do love pretty journals. Their portable nature is good too for when you're in church but it's kind of being boring that day so you can write "to do" lists and blogging ideas but people will think you're taking notes on what the speaker/teacher is saying and are therefore pretty much the most righteous person in the room. As my sad, sad journal will attest, though, real journal-writing just isn't happening. (Note: This does not mean that people should stop buying me pretty journals as go-to gifts. Never, never stop.)

Anyway. Looked through old England journal entries on my computer and found this one. It was right after the WR breakup of 2006, which sort of threw my life plans into a tailspin since I'd been looking at becoming an English trophy wife/librarian. This was (and still is) on my list of Life Goals Which If Met Will Mean All My Wildest Dreams Have Come True (#7: Become English. Or, failing that, Marry British Man).

Back to the journal entry. A group of us, including WR, drove up to the Preston Temple for the day, which I figured would be good for my psyche. A few awkward moments early on at the temple had me casting my eyes heavenward to ask "Why do you HATE ME??"

But then:

". . . during the session I started feeling better, and I watched the temple workers and thought about how I almost got to be one of them back when I lived in UT, and how I would still really like to do that. Then I realized that if I moved back to UT I could do that. And I could do a lot of other things that I really like to do and suddenly realized that I was kind of missing, like seeing my friends and eating at my restaurants and having my stuff and going to the Utah Shakespearean Festival.

And then I wondered if maybe that was something that I was meant to start thinking about, since it did come to me there in the temple and all, so I kept thinking about it. And it still feels kind of good."

I read this just as my sisters and I were planning our Weekend of Relaxation, which I was beyond excited about. And even though I really miss England, and the things I did there and the friends I made, I'm glad things happened the way they did. I'm glad that, at least for now, I'm close to family and we can do things like this together. I'm glad I live 3 minutes away from Spitfire and that we get to be real friends for pretty much the first time ever.

I never thought of myself as someone who needed a lot of family around. I've gotten pretty good at creating Urban Singleton Families where needed. And it's lucky for us that we have things like that, otherwise I know I would be tempted every now and then to put a bomb in my mouth (tm Sakhmet). But I can almost sympathize now with those crazies who buy up entire neighborhood cul-de-sacs and have their family members move in next door so they can create some sort of compound and share food storage or whatever it is that they do.

Because we're a bunch of nomads in my family, I have no idea where we'll all end up. And at this point I don't really see L**** as the place where I'll spend the rest of my life. There aren't enough British men here, for one thing. But I'm glad that I have this time to be near family. And that we can support and enjoy each other in ways we couldn't if we lived farther apart.

So this Thanksgiving I am thankful for Spitfire, Jenny, Ed, Savvy, and Baby Ethan. I love you!