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 This word is obsolete, and is thought to come from the Dutch for run and hollow.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.
