Thanksgiving is not bringing out the best in me. I’m gonna admit that, right off the bat.
Last night, I had a full blown turkey-tantrum and my husband bore the brunt of it. God bless him. It went something like this:
Me: “I wonder if it’s too late to see if Aunt Donna could host Thanksgiving?”
Him: “Why do you say that?”
Oh, whoops. See that heap on the floor? That’s me.
That’s all it took. And there was wailing about pots-big-enough-to-brine-a-turkey, recyclables-that-need-to-be-taken, impossible-to-assemble-IKEA-cabinets, unorganized-spice-cabinets, and what-do-we-do-about-the-situation-in-Mali.
Spouses…if you’re in the middle of this, I apologize.
I’m one of those, who would skip right over Thanksgiving to get to the good stuff. The decorating. The tree. Or three. The cookies in the oven. The shopping. The click of the gas to start the fireplace (what?). Did I mention the cookies?
I love the ‘gesture’ of the season of Advent (or Christmas, for the more secular world). I love that people seem a bit more patient and share a little more grace and show a little extra love to those they normally would ignore.
And yet, here we are. At the doorstep of Thanksgiving. Trying to see how many casserole dishes we can fit into the oven at one time. And how many bags of mini-marshmallows we’ll need, in order to get through the weekend. We’re cleaning and sorting and shifting and fretting. We’re inserting the leaves into our fancy tables (or bringing plastics ones from the church) and stocking up on Rum Chata or Pumpkin Spice Vodka (okay, maybe that’s just MY family?).
And somewhere in the midst of it all…. in the midst of it all, we pause for like, a minute, to say thank you for all the things we know we ought to say thank you for, each day. All the things we ought to notice and smell and touch and listen for…
So before the tryptophan kicks in…let me say thank you.
For the squirrel that sits in my office window each day,
for the smell of rosemary and orange peels,
for the moments we find,
to read a really good chapter
in a really good book,
for tables big enough to welcome anyone,
for spouses that assure us that it’ll all be okay…
and for spouses that almost manage to convince us that it might be true.
For hand-knitted scarves dropped off unexpectedly,
the promise of coffee in the morning,
for courage to stand with another
even when you feel like you stand alone
because the world is convinced that darkness wins,
for fine china that gets used once a year,
and for alcohol (that’s mostly a joke).
For glimpses of God,
for light bulbs and furnaces that stay on,
for cracks in sidewalks
which remind me that our world is constantly changing,
for bags under my eyes,
for the opportunity to be friends
with my parents,
and for friends who aren’t.
I’m almost convinced,
that that heap on the floor,
is gonna be juuuuuuuust fine.