The Collapse CXCV: Thanksgiving +1

 27 November 20XX+1

My Dear Lucilius:

Pompeia Paulina pointed out this morning that it was Thanksgiving Day.

I confess that such a thing had completely escaped me – November has been involved beyond measure and the calendar days have come to mean less and less, especially since there is no real time-frame anymore, other than the fact that it is Winter now and Spring will come at some point (but not soon enough).

Unlike the classic Thanksgiving Day postcards and pictures of long ago, with Pilgrims sitting under flaming Autumn foliage with the golden brown of withering grasses behind them, we are sitting under grey skies, cold to the point of not going out unless one must. We have had a new flurry of snow in the past two days and even now, the sky continues to insult us by putting out just enough snow to make it clear that this is just one more snow day.

Chores were done as quickly as possible. Given that it was, at least at one time, a public holiday, I gave myself the gift of an afternoon inside.

On a bit of a lark, I paged back to the entry from last year at Thanksgiving. It was quite a different event: The Collapse was still a relatively fresh thing and there remained in my mind some vague sense that this, too, would pass. It speaks of playing Vivaldi – ironic given the letter I had just sent you. Even as I write this, I consider playing him again – but no, the power draw would be too great, especially given the fact that it is Winter and the ability to recharge is so limited.

I showed my letter to Pompeia Paulina. She smiled when she read it, the dinner of dried fish and dried blueberries, that putting on a second piece on the fire and playing music were considered luxuries even then. I asked her what she and Stateira were doing last year.

She laughed. About the same, she replied. There was so much that was unknown at the time, they did similar things. Except, of course, have Young Xerxes over for dinner.

Should I run over and see if they want to come in, I said? I have no idea what we actually had, but surely there was enough for four.

No need, she said. She had checked in with Statiera yesterday – this was, after all, their first Thanksgiving together married and they thought they might take the day to themselves.

As, she pointed out, it was ours as well.

The Thanksgiving meal was quite similar this year to last, livened up a bit by two pieces of dark chocolate which, so far as I know, is the last of this substance West of anywhere. The drink, mint tea, was pulled from leaves dried earlier in the year. There was no music for ambiance and with the daylight fading so early, candles and the fire place had to do for lighting. The company, though, was exquisite.

Although much has changed, I still have a great deal to be thankful for. Including you, old friend.

Happiest of Thanksgivings. May we all remember that which we have had and that which we still have with gratitude, never with regret.

Your Obedient Servant, Seneca