When I got up the sun was trying to peek through the clouds, but it's gone completely now. It's cold, rainy and the weatherman says there's even a chance of snow over the weekend. I should be feeling dreary but the world around me is bathed in gold, orange and red, too beautiful to let the gloomies in.

This is the Thanksgiving weekend for us here in Canada. In a few hours I'll be driving into the village to pick up my daughter and her sweetie, in a few hours our quiet little home will be abuzz with strange music, our fridge will raided constantly, and there will be people up all hours of the night.

I can hardly wait.

We'll spend Saturday cooking up a storm as our part of Sunday's feast down at Paul's mom's home. There could be as many as 16 of us around the table where Paul ate as a child, it all depends on how many of the far flung grandchildren migrate home.

I can hardly wait.

There will be sad moments; there always are on the day where you take a moment to do the tally, count the blessings, when you take a moment to miss the folks no longer here. I'll pick up the phone and touch base with my sister, my stepmother, my stepbrother. We'll wish each other well, talk about times past and memories of my father will be hovering there in all our thoughts .

Down at the home farm there's an empty chair, too, another father no longer here. Paul's dad will be especially missed this day, the first Thanksgiving for his first great-grandchild. I wish he could have seen this baby who will most likely join us this special day.

Enough of this. It's not a time to mourn, it's a time to celebrate. For truly the blessings far outnumber the losses, the joy is far greater than the pain.

Besides, there's a bedroom to get ready, a house to straighten up, and a fridge to be stocked. My kid and the man she loves are coming home.

I can hardly wait.