Judging from the glazed over looks of my overstuffed family members staring blankly at the Cowboys-Seahawks game, I’d say Thanksgiving ’08 is wrapping up quite nicely. There was way too much food. For eleven people you really don’t need a turkey, a ham, dressing, giblet gravy, broccoli casserole, spinach salad, creamed corn, mashed potatoes, cranberry sauce, curried fruit, green beans, watergate salad, rolls, chocolate pie and pumpkin cheesecake. I’d say we out-did the pilgrims by a few side dishes, but who’s comparing?
I’m not exactly in the mood to write this evening. The dishes are piled high. I’m suffering from that what’s it called “sleepy turkey condition” and I have to get packed to head to Tybee. But something’s pulling me toward the computer to take time out and chronicle all the things in life for which I’m thankful. Okay, here goes before I crash, banging my head on the keyboard and engraving the “H” key into my nose.
1) Good health. It sounds trite and cliche, but the older I get, the more genuinely grateful I am for the fact that I’m not incontinent, suffering from some flesh-eating disease or have Tourettes (although it would be amusing from time to time).
2) My new chair-and-a-half recliner that’s made from genuine “Dream Hide.” I think dream hide is a notch below nauga-hide. It’s from Big Lots because James and I are insufferably cheap and haven’t paid full price for anything…..ever. My mom said today “You don’t get that from me and myyyyy side of the family. We’d never be caught dead in a discount store.” I’m kind of afraid to sit on, walk near or breathe in the same room as the chair because it might bruise the Dream hide, which doesn’t tolerate typical cleaning solutions, or liquids of any kind, or extreme heat, or cold, or temperature changes of any kind, or weight above 15 pounds or below 14 pounds. There’s a bunch more items on the warning label, which is as long as a Kroger receipt complete with the 76 coupons they give you. I like the way the chair looks in my living room, but my eye contact may damage the “Dream Hide” so I try not to cast my gaze in its direction.
3) All the art work my kids bring home from school. When Andrew first started pre-school, I was just as proud as he was of the scribbly Noah’s Ark colorings and construction paper concoctions he made. I’d carefully pin them to the wall in a prominent location. I’d beam “look what Andrew, my little artist protegy created!” when people would come over. Now Andrew’s in second grade and Jack’s in preschool. Everyday, and I mean everyday, especially Mondays and Wednesdays, Andrew and Jack are cranking out the masterpieces like air-bags at a Ford assembly plant. Every horizontal surface in my house is covered in artwork that consists of construction paper, popsicle sticks and googly eyes all held together by enough glue to fill in the ozone layer.
4)The Pine Forest Handbell Choir, of which I’m a member, proudly shaking each wrist to the tunes of B, B-flat, C and D-sharp, somewhere way up the scale. Used to, whenever I’d see a handbell choir perform, I’d make fun of their white or black gloves, as if they were about to administer a white glove test in an Army bunker or commit a neighborhood burglery. I’d laugh at the precision of their movements and the ultra serious, concentrated expressions on their faces like graceful, mute air traffic controllers. I’ve been a member of the PFUMC HB choir for a few months now and I love it. I get a week’s worth of laughs and good times between the rings and have made some wonderful friends. Go ahead, call me a ding-a-ling, I consider it a high compliment.
5) That my husband didn’t kill me when I broke his camera. I seriously thought he would. But, instead, he went out and cut the grass, which has been dead for a month and has experienced no noticeable growth during that time. The reason my husband has a camera is because I broke the one we shared, and the one before that, and the one before that. After I discovered that beach sand and zoom lenses don’t make good bed fellows, James went out and bought his own little Samsung, 7.0 megapixel camera and dared me to touch it, not in a truth or dare sort of way, but in a “if you even come near my camera, I’ll give you a knuckle sandwich (I’m exaggerating. Don’t call DFACS).
Well, wouldn’t you know the other day, the kids were doing some adorable leaf pile acrobatics and I just had to get a photo of them. What mother wouldn’t? James wasn’t home, but his camera was. He’d never know, unless he saw the pictures. Okay, he’d know. In taking the pictures, I didn’t plan on tripping on Andrew’s scooter, losing my balance and falling camera first onto our concrete driveway. But that’s what happened. The camera made a squawking sound kind of like a mad hen…and then it died. But I didn’t thanks to James’ therapeutic grass mowing.
Okay, I’ve written. I’m done now. Maybe I’ll come back to more things I’m grateful for later, but for now, I’ll have another slice of cheesecake.