michaeldthomas

I'm writing this during our last lull for the next few days. We'll soon be with my family, and then Chicago TARDIS unofficially starts with the arrival at our house of the Mad Norwegian and christapolis. The action won't stop until we collapse here on Sunday night.

As always, I have a lot to be thankful for this year:

1- My grandfather made it to his 86th birthday this week. He's not doing well, but we should get at least one more holiday season with him.

2- Lynne's career is amazing. Two books! 40 SF/F authors already archiving at NIU (30 more on the way)! She's unstoppable. *g* I'm so proud of my wife.

3- Our house hasn't fallen to the ground.

4- I'm a better writer than I was a year ago. I started sending out short stories in January, and I've received six personalized rejections so far (one talked about how the editor almost accepted the story). I'm not there yet, but I'm getting closer.

5- Caitlin is thriving. She's never been healthier and happier (9 months seizure free). She's reading, doing math, and making friends in her first grade class.

6- We have the best friends and family in the world. We couldn't do it without all of you.

Happy Thanksgiving!

If you would like to receive a holiday card from the Thomas family, please message rarelylynne or me with your address.

Thanks!

"Anthem for Doomed Youth"

What passing-bells for these who die as cattle?
Only the monstrous anger of the guns.
Only the stuttering rifles' rapid rattle
Can patter out their hasty orisons.
No mockeries now for them; no prayers nor bells;
Nor any voice of mourning save the choirs,
The shrill, demented choirs of wailing shells;
And bugles calling for them from sad shires.
What candles may be held to speed them all?
Not in the hands of boys, but in their eyes
Shall shine the holy glimmers of good-byes.
The pallor of girls' brows shall be their pall;
Their flowers the tenderness of patient minds,
And each slow dusk a drawing-down of blinds.

-Wilfred Owen
(1893-1918)