Gobble, Gobble

Oh, Thanksgiving. You are an interesting animal.

This holiday for me never seems to be the same from one time to the next, but, there is a common theme: gather together to share a meal with others. For me, who those "others" are has changed over the years.

When I was a child, it was all about the aunts and uncles. Every year, Johnny and Marie would come to my mother's for Thanksgiving. These two were, in today's terms, morbidly obese. To get through the door, they would have to turn sideways...something we children used to giggle about. What we didn't giggle about was the food they would bring. My brother loved rolls, so Marie would whip up two dozen rolls and bring them for the meal. My brother was in heaven.

My Uncle Jim (a bachelor) would come too. He was half-baked by the time he got to my mother's, but that was part of his charm (to us kids, not to my mother). When he sat down to eat, it was as if the rest of the world disappeared. He would concentrate on the meal as if he had never eaten before. He loved the food immensely. He never brought food, but he would always reach into his pockets and hand us whatever coins or dollar bills he might have.

And then there was my Aunt Sis. She was single all her life and was very close to my mother. Because of their closeness, we were treated as little princes and princesses. She would bring pies and cookies like you've never seen before. She always made sure to bring something that each of us would enjoy. She never failed on that goal!

Even when we lived in a tiny house, they would all show up and enjoy the meal. Afterwards, the women would stay in the kitchen and wash the dishes while the men would gather in the living room and "watch" television. Actually, what they did was watch about five minutes worth of television and then fall soundly asleep and snore loud enough to wake the dead. It's funny, but I miss that part of the routine.

When I grew up, Thanksgiving was focused on my own spouse and children. Even when the family no longer included my spouse, my in-laws continued to come to Thanksgiving dinner. At the time, I thought it strange, but now I see that it was a way to stay in touch with the children and maintain a sense of family. I never thought I would, but I miss them.

Now that the in-laws are gone and the children are far-flung, I now spend Thanksgiving with people who are not my family.

There were the British friends who never had occasion to celebrate Thanksgiving. We laughed when they brought kumquats to share. We didn't expect that!

There were the single women who are either raising children alone or who have no children. I have a special bond with these folks.

There are the people with whom I would otherwise never share a meal but who wanted to share a meal and had no where else to go.

This year, the day was spent with a family, but they were not my own. I saw that they rolled their eyes about their mother, as I did when my own mother was alive. They joked with each other and resurrected childhood memories. I got to sit back and laugh at how similar our families are.

Some of us clear the plate. Others of us refuse to eat the main course (turkey). Some of us demand vegetarian alternatives.

Gobble, gobble, gobble.

Although it has changed, I enjoy it no matter who comes to share my table.

Tell me I didn't just do that...

Drove downtown to take a book back to the public library.

Found a parking spot right in front of the building.

Walked across the street with the book in hand.

Ambled over to the drop-box and noticed there was ketchup smeared all over the box. How rude, I thought.

Opened the box and dropped the book...into the trash can! Oh, crap.

Vows Made the Day

After some discussion, my son and his fiance decided to say vows at their wedding. It was truly a powerful period of the evening. When my son finished saying his vows, the wedding attendees exclaimed, "ahhhh." The bride paused between each of her vows and took a long breath, as if she were holding back tears. The attendees cheered when she finished.

"It was the right thing to do," my son later confided. It made the evening.

How could you?

I have been hurt by many, but the pain is much worse when it comes from someone I thought was not capable of such hurt.

Perhaps the attack came from some deep place inside you. Perhaps I brought it on somehow. Wherever it came from, it hurt with the sharpness of a blade that could not have been sharper. You sliced me to the core. You made me feel like a trapped animal, and I lashed out.

Now I am lost. I do not trust that you won't do it again. You made me fearful. You made me want to run away.

Now what?

Why do you call me that?

I call him Speedy.
He calls me Darling.

When we are old and grey (ok, we're already grey), will we still use these names?

"Now why did you start calling me that," I will ask him.
He'll say he doesn't recall and he'll ask why I call him Speedy.
I won't recall either.

Even though we both have perfectly lovely names, I like these names better.
They have character.
They are endearing.

So here's to you, Speedy!
I will forever be your Darling.

Shall we dance?

How do we really get to know another person? We interrogate them. We watch their every move. We note how often they check their phone, or we find out what kind of television they like or don't like. But even with all this information, do we really know each other?

I think we learn a little each time we talk to someone or hang around them, but there is still so much that we do not know. How much do we share of ourselves? If we share something negative or dark, will they think ill of us? Will they walk away? What is too personal? When will the time come when it's ok to share the negative or dark?

It is an interesting dance that we do. We have a persona that we want to maintain, and yet there are things that give us away. We say something a certain way, or we give a certain look. We move a certain way, or we blink too many times. We are complex and we choose to dance in different ways, depending on who we are around.

Maybe it's the dance that keeps us going. We like to move, though sometimes it can be terrifying. I think the best and worst thing about the dance is that we just never know what the other person's next step will be.

When it gets right down to it, though, I like to dance.

Hiking Queen, Not Yet

I have been learning the art of hiking. I say it's an art because I have found that there are many ins and outs that one should probably learn before jumping in and calling oneself a hiker.

First, there are the shoes or I should say boots. Think those sneakers are going to serve you well when you're out there climbing around like a mountain goat? No, they will not. One must pick boots that are either below the ankle, mid-ankle, or over the ankle. Who knew? Certainly not me.  It all depends on the type of terrain you will be encountering. Next, you must consider the weight of the boots, and that relates, ah hem, to the weight of the hiker. The sturdiness of the boots varies, depending on your weight. Yeah, light-weight gazelle that I am, I had to go for something a little heavier because I have, in the words of match.com, a few extra pounds.

Next, one needs to wear the proper clothing. I remember when I was in high school and college, I'd wear those super thick and heavy cotton long johns. No, no, no. No cotton is allowed. It's all about those poor little polyesters that must give up their lives for a polyester shirt. Turns out, polyester is a great material for hiking because it lets you sweat without getting cold. That's where the beauty queen aspect comes in. You have never seen me in a more stunning outfit until you've seen me in my polyester long johns.

You know that old real estate saying: location, location, location? Well, hiking is all about layering, layering, layering. The next layer should be some kind of fleece or wool. After that is the jacket. Windproof, waterproof, warm...the three Ls combined with the 3 Ws. I have yet to find the perfect combo so that I don't look like a total dork. And I hate to admit it, but avoiding the dork look happens to be important to me. My goal? Warm, yet fashionable. Take that fashioneestas!

How about the hat? I've given up worrying about hat hair. Hat hair is all the rage on the trail. The hattier, the better!

Poles? Yes, you should probably use those too. I thought I was being clever picking up a stick to help me on the path until I heard a "crack" as I was climbing over a downed tree. My trusty stick gave up the ghost and nearly took me with it. Poles are definitely in my future.

Well, that's all I've learned so far. Oh, and I've learned that hiking, real hiking, is a wonderful thing. How else would I have heard the smack of the snow geese wings as the geese flew away to escape the evil eagle that was lurking nearby? And birds...they're everywhere and I've really only seen a few.

So, help me tie up my boots and toss me that dorky hat. I'm ready for an adventure! There are more things to learn about hiking. I aspire to be the hiking queen!