My oh my. Thanksgiving does take a great deal out of one, doesn’t it?

Perhaps it’s all the eating. Or all the family.

Or, in my case, a rather long drive with Mordecai. You’ve not known exhaustion until you have been in a car for twelve hours with my brother.

Which is why, upon our return to the home in Brooklyn, I let out an immense sigh of relief and slipped my shoes off in the cold garden.

You see, my pets, my home is a lopeholt

Lopeholt is a noun which means a refuge, a place of safety. This word is obsolete, and is thought to come from the Dutch for run and hollow.

Whatever the origins, I find my lopeholt an essential part of my mental health. (Yes, yes, many would question the soundness of my mind, but ignore that.) A haven is necessary, and if I might pontificate for a moment, a haven free of all the hullabaloo of our modern world will keep you sleeping better and feeling more human.

Trust me. I know from lopeholts and sanity.

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