Thanksgiving, Martha's Vineyard, 2004 Suddenly this year the kids no longer hunger for the center stage of charades, now they have their own drama, poker among themselves, leaving the grownups like singles at the prom, wondering where all the time went. Outside, 40 mph, 30's dropping to the 20's, the clouds skid low across the sky like silver express trains. They turn the fresh milk moon off and on like a lamp with a loose wire. The poodle, black as ink, chases the tennis ball into the darkness, then suddenly looms up in the creamy light on the return. Orion is as bright tonight as it was 40 years ago, when I first looked at the stars in a New Hampshire winter. A few minutes after I heard my historian-uncle Siert died, a schizophrenic who is a friend sent me a poem: "O ye.... did Erin cook you a tasty dinner are Pete and Olivia back home repent the end is near" love & safety to all, christopher