I adore those days when our kids just hang out with us in the place where they used to live. Family members have started to arrive for Thanksgiving. My niece got here from college on Saturday, and my cousin flew in from Trinidad yesterday. My son came through to see his aunt and his cousin, and my daughter and her boyfriend were here till late last night, all of us drinking red wine and telling stories and laughing, while my daughter cooked apple pies from scratch. I had an OCD inspiration to completely clean out the fridge, throwing out old food and making everything that remained sparkling in anticipation of the hard use those shelves are going to see this week. I felt easy and happy in my skin, which is not my natural state. It occurred to me that life, being human, is about connection, but not with just anyone, much as that might be the ideal. In the intimacy of a life, it's about connection with those people with whom you can feel whole and just right, no matter how you show up. They love you and you love them, and it's not up for reevaluation. It just is. And will be.