Last night we celebrated Thanksgiving. No we are not American, but for the first time ever, it felt like a perfectly normal time to celebrate this holiday and celebrate the first flurry fall. My daughter helped my husband make the supper and she also took great care to decorate for the event. We moved the table into the living room and fancied things up. It was everything a fancy dinner should be: delicious, candlelit, eaten in pyjamas and full of conversations about all the other fancy meals we've had. Last Christmas we braved eating duck and the kids had great fun thinking up other options: sushi, geese (plural), bear and moose and cow.
We talk to ourselves everyday, all day (and night) for the whole of our lives. We started talking to ourselves before we knew we were a self, we forget what we said because we forget everything from before...when we were too young and busy developing our brain to remember those early years. There is still lingering residue of long forgotten conversations I have had with myself as a toddler sitting around in the crevices...sloughing off occasionally into words I tell myself still. We talk non-stop, and not just with dialogue. Our goosebumps communicate to us, our tingly feelings, our neurons, our peripheal vision. They are all submitting data into our self and expecting us to react, respond or all to often, expecting what they are sending us will be ignored. After all that talking, you'd think we'd know what we think about most things, but occasionally we are stumped. Unless we stop what we are doing and really concentrate sometimes that voice(s) ...
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