The best excuse ever for not having finished preparing Thanksgiving dinner is officially:
“I didn’t have time to cook that; I was in prison.”
But cook Olivier did once he and Seba were FINALLY released, and, even in my dark mood, coming out into the back yard to find a table laden with a feast (and flowers!!) moved me to tears.
Tradition wasn’t lost, even if there wasn’t time to make squash or corn on the cob. We took hands, and sang the doxology (a tradition I enjoy even in the absence of religion) and filled our bellies with delicious food.
The heaviness of the day was not, however, lost on us and the magic was somewhat diminished as heated discussions followed dinner regarding the events of the day.
I do feel like it’s the result of stress and hormones, but I fear that the staff questions my ability to protect them, and the project.
And I can’t blame them. I feel responsible in my inability to somehow expedite or eradicate the drama from yesterday, and I can’t help but wonder what Cleve would have done in this situation, and whether he would have been able to protect them more than I did.
I guess I should be glad that I didn’t get myself arrested, but the fact that the drama isn’t over, and Seba and Olivier have to go back to the police today is disquieting.
I told Polycarpe last night that I may not be able to circumvent the process of law here, or keep Seba and Olivier out of the necessary rigamarole to get this whole thing done with.
But I can keep it from happening again by removing us from under the thumb of FS. Today, I hope that Polycarpe and I can go out in search of a different house, and that, within the next week or two, we’ll be able to move there.