Halfway Points [RANT]

At noon tomorrow, I reach my halfway mark for this wild party called National Novel Writing Month. But how goes my progress? It isn’t exactly good. I am mostly there if Murphy’s Law will stop jumping up to bite my ankles.

Aside from that, I need to add flesh to the bones of the chapters I have allegedly finished. When I glance back to confirm consistency and details, I see more telling than showing, which is less fun for my dear readers. Yet I forge through to new chapters and new turns of events because that is where my word count thrives and blossoms like kudzu.

And my celebrations of gratitude for pie? At this point, it looks like outsourcing our Thanksgiving feast will be the best option. While I find cooking fun and relaxing, for the most part, figuring out how to prepare my level of required deliciousness with the current state of my kitchen distracts me from all the other busyness exploding like fireworks in this November.

And finally, that little ray of sunshine we all need this month. The one that isn’t pie. What has this hobbit been grateful for this week?

Day 9: The ability to access so much information so quickly through the wonders of the internet.

Day 10: Fluffy socks make walks on cold mornings more viable even for a polar bear.

Day 11: When it rains at night. That way I can still walk myself in the morning and then get into everything else that requires my attention.

Day 12: Being reminded not to let the busyness get me down. Listened to a podcast yesterday that really delivered that message.

Day 13: Gentle writing reminders such as this, “If it’s curing insomnia or impossible to proofread, chuck it.” Yep, still fighting the word fight over here.

Day 14: Salad to cheer me up. Yes, sometimes even I need more than pie for sustenance.

Day 15: Friendly people who aren’t freaked out by my overly friendly oldest child who tried to make friends with everyone (and possibly a painting or two) at the eye doctor’s office this morning.

Turkey Tom [FICTION]

With coke bottle glasses and unruly, curly hair, my cousin Melvin epitomized every conspiracy theorist ever written about. By tacit agreement, almost everyone in the family avoided getting him started on any of his pet theories. Uncle Mort, however, loved to try to start new ones with Melvin’s help. Usually, Melvin regarded our uncle with skeptical eyes before pushing his glasses back up on his nose, sniffing disdainfully, and turning away or outright explaining why he didn’t believe a word Mort said. Either way, Uncle Mort’s raucous laugh drowned out all conversation for about five minutes.

This year, Uncle Mort decided to start a little more subtly. He stepped up to the window and peered outside. He maintained this silent vigil for ten minutes before Melvin finally took the bait. He tentatively stepped over to peer around our uncle’s prodigious stomach.

He whispered softly, “What do you see out there?”

“Huh?” Mort feigned being startled and looked down at Melvin with a gleam in his eye. “Well, boy, the neighborhood strays are up to something, so I am watching them watch us.”

At that announcement, I had to come peer out the window, too. My mother shook her head at me and rolled her eyes at her younger brother’s antics. I persevered in joining the gawking. When I finally found an angle to see outside, a small horde of cats gazed back at me with bored yet intelligent eyes. At their center sat our own wild cat, Tom. His head titled just so as if he saw me, and I smiled.

“They know we have turkey,” Uncle Mort intoned, “And they mean to have it for themselves.”

Melvin elbowed me gently in the side, “Molly will share with them. Every cat knows she is an easy mark.”

I opened my mouth to protest, but I couldn’t deny that I have snuck bits of turkey to any cat I could lure close enough since I could walk. I knew my my mother would proudly pull out photographic evidence of my infinite cuteness and slavery to cats multiple times during the evening. I clamped my mouth shut and offered him the closest version of a sneer that I could muster while holding back a smile.

He didn’t notice. His focus alternated casting quizzical looks at the cats with suspiciously regarding my uncle. He finally decided to pop out the front door and peer under the bushes along front of the house. The cats found this too much to bear and disappeared. My uncle found this hilarious and snickered in self-satisfaction. As Melvin turned back toward the house, he stifled his good humor and wandered into the kitchen to sneak any food that was ready before the turkey.

He returned with a roll, which he promptly stuffed into his face as Melvin approached him with that look that foretold questions followed by more questions. Melvin opened his mouth to speak and Mort held up one hand to silence him while pointing at his chipmunk cheeks with the other.

“Later then,” Melvin narrowed his eyes and returned to the window.

I peeked over his shoulder to see that the cats had already returned. I shivered a little as all those intelligent green eyes turned my way.

“It really does look like they are casing the place,” I whispered.

Melvin shook his head, “You know how Uncle Mort kids. If you want to know about a real conspiracy, I offer you the assassination of…”

“Oh crud. I was supposed to help mom with the gravy,” I conveniently remembered.

I doubted Melvin believed me. I wouldn’t have. But I had heard every one of his conspiracies so many times. I could share them as succinctly as he does and even offer proof of my assertions, well, his assertions. I shuddered and hurried to the kitchen. To my chagrin, my mother accosted me in the doorway.

“Just in time to stir the gravy, darling,” she offered me a wooden spoon and beelined for the back door. “Whew! I need some cool air in here.”

My aunt mumbled something about “hot flashes” and earned a dirty look for her commentary. My mother opened her mouth to respond in kind, but my youngest cousin’s squeals of horror brought the whole house running to the front door.

“Tom. Tom. Are you okay?” She cried out.

We gathered around to watch her pick up the giant tabby cat, who normally discouraged such effrontery with claws and teeth. As she cradled him to her chest, his eyes opened a fraction but quickly closed again. We crowded around her. My mother reached over and took him into her own arms. Mother was his favorite and he snuggled happily into her arms. He instantly began purring loudly.

“He seems fine to me,” mom said.

A crash from the kitchen brought the concerned congregants rushing in another direction. We converged on the kitchen to find the turkey roaster overturned on the kitchen floor. The runt of Tom’s litter, Tiger, straddled the cooling turkey and dragged it as fast as she could torward the back door where the rest of the watchers waited to help her. Tom chose this moment to extract himself from mom’s embrace and join the feasters on the lawn.

“Well, there goes Thanksgiving,” my mother said sadly as we watched the turkey disappear except for a trail of grease leading to the lucky hoard of soon to be over-stuffed cats.

“Finally got one right,” Melvin patted Uncle Mort on the back while gazing up at him with new respect.

Mort stood with his mouth open. No teases or guffaws preceded from his gaping maw—just borderline hyperventilation as our Thanksgiving dreams became feline reality.

~~~

Watch out for those tricky kitties. They will get your turkey if you let them! Hope you have a fabulous Thanksgiving and are grateful for all that you have.

Piece of the Pie [FICTION]

Grandma Ellie’s Thanksgiving feasts were legendary. Most ended with the whole family passed out due to tryptophan and excessively happy taste buds. A couple ended with cousins not talking to each other for daring to back the team that defeated theirs, but they usually got over it before the next game of the season aired. One memorable year gets its story retold every year as we gather together to commiserate as we long for Grandma Ellie and her many talents.

As a newly minted teenager, my thirteenth birthday fell three days before Thanksgiving that year. That might be why I determined to be as difficult as possible that Thursday. My mother’s continued encouragement to get ready to go to grandma’s house fell on stubbornly deaf ears. When my dad finally intervened, he ended up lifting me from the comfortable nest of blankets on my bed and throwing me over his shoulder.

“You’re not too old to spank, you know?” He asked as he gave me a firm spank on the bottom to make his point.

“Yes, daddy,” I agreed but the petulance crept out and earned me an extra spank for good measure.

Those were the last words out of my mouth until I stepped past Grandma Ellie’s front door with its peeling white paint and faded fall wreath. Then the warm scents of love laced with roasting turkey, savory herbs, and, most importantly, every little nuance of pumpkin spice. Those memories make me understand how that scent took over many a millennial heart every fall years later. It certainly softened my pre-millennial heart. Had that not melted a little of my teenage angst, being wrapped in my grandmother’s arms would have turned me into the butter necessary to begin a good roux.

She settled me in at the counter-height table with a healthy slice of pie and everything else faded away for the next three hours. I didn’t shy away from my mom smooching me on the cheek though she abused the privilege and kept coming back for more. I even let my younger cousins braid my hair. I regretted it later when I had to brush out burgeoning dreadlocks. 

The highest praise of my grandmother’s magic touch lay in my polite and almost witty conversation at dinner. My mother beamed proudly at me over platters heaped with every dish anyone ever longed to see on the Thanksgiving table. We ate our fill. Then we nibbled some more. Then we watched some old family footage until we had just enough room for the coup de grace.

My grandmother’s pies were pure perfection. From the flakey, buttery crust to the smooth filling just sweet enough to make the spices pop, to the homemade whipped cream that contained the secret to happiness, no one could pass up a piece. Even Aunt Mel happily devoured at least one piece knowing full well the cinnamon would turn her into a rashy, red, itchy beast.

But no one loved Grandma Ellie’s pie like her two boys. If Uncle Fred ate three pieces, so did Uncle Ted. If Uncle Ted asked for another dollop of whipped cream, Uncle Fred insisted he needed two.

Disaster would have been averted if Uncle Ted and Aunt Mel’s daughter Viv hadn’t been the only child old enough to bring a sweetheart home for the holidays. Or if I hadn’t already enjoyed a slice upon arrival. But however it came to pass, the last pie produced an uneven number of slices. And neither of my uncles was going to be the bigger man—not in that way.

“I’m the oldest. It’s mine,” Ted declared with certainty.

Fred grinned wolfishly and his eyes focused on Viv’s boyfriend, who was still nibbling away at his piece. “I’d say you already had yours, big brother.”

He reached for the pie then, but Ted knocked his hand away. “Mine!” He roared.

At this moment my tiny grandmother stepped between her two tall sons and snatched up the plate. “I shall just cut this piece in half,” she paused to give each of them a disapproving look, “and you can share it like civilized human beings.”

“Yes, mother,” they both demurred with downcast eyes, but even while they both counted floor tiles, the challenge in both sets of eyes remained obvious.

They spent the rest of that holiday and every one that followed looking for moments to challenge each other where their mother couldn’t intervene. One year, they arm wrestled while grandma put finishing touches on the turkey. Fred won a broken nose. The following year, they stumbled outside to play basketball while the rest of us drowsed. Again, neither of them won since they both ended up with sprained wrists. The injuries became as much a family tradition as our shared pie addiction.

Grandma chided them each time they hurt themselves or each other. But the hijinks didn’t stop. Over time, they even got bolder and initiated staring contests and other foolishness in front of Grandma Ellie. She began carrying a spatula around for the express purpose of whacking the foolishness out of her sons. Even she knew it was a hopeless cause but I think she enjoyed the sounds they made when she snuck up on them for a little discipline.

When Grandma Ellie passed away some years later, everyone accepted her distribution of her few earthly assets with more magnanimous decorum than the verdict over that last piece of pie. Of course, had they realized she bequeathed her recipe for that pie to me over years of learning at the rolling pin of the master, that life event might have echoed the story I just relayed. I think my mother has guessed my secret, but everyone else still maintains that no one bakes a pie like Grandma Ellie. (Oh, and I invite Ted and Fred on alternating years. I could never get by with whapping either of them with a spatula.)

~~~

Hope you are preparing for a fabulous turkey day, surrounded by loved ones and enough whipped cream for the perfect pumpkin pie. And if you could send some positive energy for me to catch up on my National Novel Writing Month word count, that would be awesome.

Being Thankful Every Year (Should Be Every Day)

I know. Two weeks without a fiction break might be too much, but this is the time of year when most of us allow ourselves to think about our gratitude. We are grateful for the big things like our homes and the little things like our tiny humans blowing us kisses. So let tell you about a number of things I am grateful for.

1. Heavenly Father. He loves me and He loves you. You don’t have to believe it, but I do, so be kind and don’t assume the worst of me. By the same token, I am grateful for Jesus Christ. For those who need reminded of one of the most memorized scriptures ever, John 3:16: “For God so loved the world, that He gave His Only Begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in Him should not perish but have everlasting life."

2. Faith. It sounds like a repeat, but it isn’t. Faith in the Lord keeps me pointed in the right direction spiritually. Faith in myself helps me accomplish more than should honestly be expected of one human being.

3. Family. Whether we share blood or we have adopted each other, family makes life better. They offer moral support, provide amusing stories to share (if you have met my real or adopted brothers, you know what I speak of—my adopted sisters are all beautiful angels, so they provide sweet uplifting anecdotes), and they remind us of the best qualities in ourselves and others.

4. Food. I love most food. I know that is obvious. I like discovering new flavors, enjoying flavors I already know I love, and sharing comfort foods with others.

5. Muses. Without inspiration, this blog would never have any posts. Keep encouraging my muses and me. We like chocolate, amazon gift cards, and words of appreciation…among other things.

6. Words. Okay, so I complain about them a lot and burst into song (rewatch “My Fair Lady” and you will know what I mean), but words can be so useful. They help us communicate. For book lovers, they help us escape to far away lands whether we are escaping housework or boredom. 

7. Readers. That’s right. Anyone who stumbles on my writing and appreciates it brightens my day. Of course, until I buckle down and self-publish something, I may never know if I have more than three true blue lovers of my words.

8. Animals. Though I currently live in a pet free environment, I could write a whole book about animals I have loved. In fact, even after a decade sans kitties, people still have to patiently pretend to listen when I tell tales of purrs I have loved and lost.

9. Children. Yes, they drive me crazy, since I made little hobbits who are always hungry, but you really can learn a lot from children. I love watching my children root for every sports team with their friends or father, show concern for friends who are hurt or upset, and be willing to talk to everyone and anyone without having to point out their differences. (Though that last one can be terrifying to a mama who reads too many thrillers.) 

10. Friends. With me, this one kind of merges into number three most of them time, but it is always good to have people to rely on and vent to about how terrible other drivers are, etc. (Quick diversion: Also, it is nice when they giggle because you claim you want to go back into a store and buy more of an item simply because the cashier tried to discourage you yesterday because he would have to enter it manually since it isn’t in the system. It is also good when they don’t encourage you to do so since you don’t need said items but really don’t get people not wanting to do their job.)

11. Music. When I can’t find my own words to express my feelings, the right song can really hammer the point home. Honestly wish the lyrics of Sarah McLachlan’s “Good Enough” and Tori Amos’ “Leather” didn’t seem to punctuate my interactions with people, but sometimes Sarah McLachlan’s “Loving You Is Easy” winds its way into my mind as well. If you have seen my girls, you know and you already feel sorry the boys they meet. (Maybe I should spend more time listing to The Tabernacle Choir at Temple Square.)

12. Pie. Even though it gives me pie brain (my new definition of this inability to remember important things like putting on a coat when it is in the 30s outside., I love pie. I love to think about it. I love to smell it baking. I love to make it. I love to eat it. I love to smother it in yummy vanilla ice cream. I love to share it with friends. (Or you can find the song from the movie “Michael” and get the same general idea. I decided to link all these fabulous side notes. The librarian in my soul rejoices.)

13. Libraries. You know I love libraries. They have free books, movies, music, programs for everyone, friendly (or at least very interesting) employees, and so much more. 

I had to stop my list somewhere or I would go all day. Thanks for bearing with me. Your patience will be rewarded with a fun story next Friday, so stay posted and stay warm.

Turkey Troubles

All this talk of gratitude makes me want to gobble, gobble, gobble. Those silly humans have no idea what real gratitude is. They enjoy being terrified all October, but turkeys don’t have that innate desire for a good scare. We just want to live and frolic and fall in love. Just because we aren’t human doesn’t mean we don’t notice when one of our mates disappears from the yard.

I overheard some of the humans talking and I know my end approaches if I can’t convince my rafter, what turkeys call our flock, to work together to fight for freedom. But they don’t listen. They consider the slowly increasing amount of food as a blessing not foreshadowing of some terrible day. The first snow has fallen. The pumpkins have disappeared from the front porches. The mistress of the house frets over the guest list so loudly that we can hear it from the yard. And then she recites another list that starts with appetizers, ends with pie, and inevitably includes the word turkey at least twice.

So I appeal to you. Whoever you are, take pity on me. I am too wise to be plucked and stuffed and roasted. Imagine the things you could learn if you just set me free. Besides, I hear tofu tastes way better than my breast meat ever could. Think about it. Save a life and keep your cholesterol down, my friends, I hear turkey raises your cholesterol anyway. You better save your cheat eats for that pie. I hear pumpkins aren’t afraid of anything. Have you seen the faces they make in October. You should be afraid of them.

~Just a little bonus for my dear readers. I hope you know how grateful I am for your feedback, support, and appreciation for these little pieces of amusement. I also hope you know that I am not the only one grateful for you. We all have people who love us, and I firmly believe we have Heavenly parents and a Savior who love each and everyone of us dearly. As we head into the Christmas season, I hope that love will filter through us into the world by our kind words and deeds.~

A Thanksgiving Poem

We’re all thankful for something. At least, we should be. I am thankful for themes. Not just the age old theme from “A Christmas Story” about what you want for Christmas, but all those themes or prompts our teachers offered us from “what I did on my summer vacation” to the “describe Thanksgiving at your house”, which once heralded this joyous poem that I thought my dear readers would enjoy.

THANKSGIVING

Sitting down at the table to eat

Turkey and ham, the other white meat

Saying grace over our Bounty

It's the best paper towel in the county

My brother has swallowed the turkey

And his eyes look kind of murky,

But he still has room for pie

Lemon, chocolate, and pumpkin, oh my.

We all stand up in joy to sing

Hoping my brother doesn't eat anything

Because odds are he'll explode 

And scatter himself across the road.

Finally, he's ready to go

Which we're all happy to know

So we give him a push out the door

Because he can't squeeze through like before.

Gratitude Journal: Week Four [PREACHY]

Showing Gratitude for Who? You?

Today, my friend asked how I practice self-care. I admit with shame that I don’t do much of that. As a mom, most of my self-care is keeping my children happy because their sadness is my sadness or taking a half hour to tidy and clean some of my craft mess because clutter apparently increases stress. Little steps to big rewards, right?

~~

Grateful for the Laughs

Honestly, I laugh a lot at random things. Usually, it is a memory that no one else would find amusing. When I realize that, I laugh harder. Sorry if you are one of the people I have disrupted with my own perceptions of my hilarity. I also enjoy a good sitcom, even the older cheesy ones like “Green Acres”, “Bewitched”, and the “Munsters” that started repeating the same basic story just throwing different characters in and hoping we wouldn’t notice. We noticed, but we just didn’t care.

~~

Gift of Gratitude

Maybe all this talk of gratitude had me ready for to share what gifts have brought me joy. I have been thinking a lot about gifts I have received lately. In particular, I was thinking about an angel statue my mother painted for me using nail polish. I am sure any discerning art critic would tell me to throw it out, but it was made with love, so it is priceless to me. I also have a giant red coat that was keeping me warm this morning. It has always been too large for me, but my friend that gave it to me wanted me to stay warm when the temperatures dropped. Of course, that was over twenty years ago and she has passed on, but the coat still keeps me warm. 

Another friend answered this question in a way I wish I had thought of first. She commented that she is so grateful for true friends, the ones you can count on no matter what, who don’t judge you but also don’t shy away from telling you when you are being stupid. Sometimes, we need it. We don’t like it, but we need it.

~~

Sweet Safety

What makes you feel safe? Is it returning home after a long day? A police officer? Knowing you are loved?

I feel safe when I am cuddled up with my daughters. This proves ironic since they have a tendency to throw wild arms and legs in every direction, but they are just so sweet and snuggly. Maybe keeping them safe makes me feel safe? Whatever it is, I love their sweet snuggles.

~~

Shoutout to All the Heroes

I think we all need a lot of heroes. Some of my heroes are my friends who persevere no matter how hard life gets, particularly those who make having a half dozen kids look easy. I also am a hero of the people working retail who keep smiling even when some of the customers take out their bad day on them, and the nurses who often deal with the same bad behavior, not to mention bodily fluids and increased risk of getting sick. And people who keep on moving forward even when life gives them a bad hand. Those are some of my heroes. If you are struggling and still get up every morning and do what needs to get done, let yourself be your own hero.

~~

Bring on Those Smiles

A lot of things make me smile. Some even make me laugh until I cry. Should I admit that some of my favorite stories are not flattering to my oldest brother and my former roommate? Only my brother could get out a ticket because his truck smelled so bad the officer wouldn’t get within three feet of the tailgate…and I have other such gems to make me smile when life is bleak. Of course, my children can always make me smile. Smiles are addictive especially when they are that adorable.

~~

Grateful In Every Season

Being asked to pick a favorite season reminds me of being asked to pick just one ice cream flavor for the rest of my life. I can not do it. I love the crunchy leaves in autumn. Cooler weather.  And Halloween. And Thanksgiving. I love snow in winter and the excuse to bake a million delicious treats. And Christmas, of course. Who doesn’t love presents and carols and sugar cookies? And don’t forget that this is the season when we celebrate the birth of our Savior.  Then we find our way into Spring and the warmth comes back, flowers bloom, color returns, and the birds return to sing to us. Which just leaves summer with popsicles, swimming, my birthday, and all sorts of other wonderful things.

First Turkey Day [FICTION]

“My first Thanksgiving. My first Thanksgiving.” I sing happily under my breath as I pull the turkey out of the refrigerator and set it on the counter.

My husband laughs. “This isn’t your first Thanksgiving.”

“But it is the first one I am going to host.” I smile at him. “And it is going to be perfect.”

“I don’t know about that.” He looks at my turkey skeptically.

“What exactly do you mean?” I put down the kitchen scissors I was using to snip the bird free of its form-fitting plastic casing

“It’s just that I don’t remember seeing that bird in the fridge until yesterday morning…”

“And…”

“That looks like a good-sized bird. It should have probably been in there starting what Saturday, maybe Sunday at the latest.”

My mouth drops open. I pick the scissors back up, pretending to decide how best to free the bird from its protective barrier. Instead, I lean in to peer at the tiny print telling me how much the bird weighs. I rap on the turkey, frowning at both sound it makes and how hard and cold it feels against my knuckles as I search for the chart. Reading the chart confirms the sad news that my husband is correct. I sigh heavily and put the scissors down again as I turn to face my husband.

“Looks like we won’t be eating this bird until Monday.” I fight back tears.

“Don’t worry! I’ve got this.” My husband gives me a quick hug before turning toward the living room.

I lean against the counter and fight back tears of shame as hushed voices make a soft hum from the living room. The hum ends with enthusiastic cheering from my nephews and a boisterous “boo-yah” from my brother-in-law.

“We’ve got cake. We’ve got pie. We’ve got green beans…” I begin listing off the important meal-makers that we do have.

By the time I finish my mental list, my husband has returned with my brother. They beam at me.

“We took a vote, but I need to know one thing.”

“And what is that?” I ask, holding my breath.

“Did you make the mashed potato yet?”

“No. Why?”

“Yes, fries.” My brother pumps his arm in celebration, adding another “boo-yah.”

“Don’t bother with the mashed potatoes. We will grab some burgers and fries to go with all of our other goodies. Sound good?”

“Doesn’t sound like Thanksgiving,” I mumble.

“But who isn’t grateful for burgers?” My husband asks, offering me another hug.

“And fries?” My brother grins as he shakes his head up and down excitedly.

I laugh as he begins to do his patented gratitude dance, reserved for any time he gets to eat like a glutton, particularly Thanksgiving Day. “Alright. Let’s show our gratitude with burgers and fries, but who is open on Thanksgiving?”

“It’s the funniest thing,” my husband releases me from the hug but leaves one arm draped over my shoulder, “but my favorite hole-in-the-wall burger joint happens to be run by Canadians…”

I stare at him uncomprehendingly.

“They celebrated Thanksgiving in October…”

I nod understanding and give him a big hug. “Well, let’s give thanks for Canada then. And your love of a random burger joint.”

And that is how we all celebrated how grateful we are with hamburgers and fries. And let’s be honest, my husband probably wants this to be a yearly tradition though I will take my turkey 

~Don’t be caught off-guard, my friends. Check to see how many days your bird needs to thaw in the fridge and give it that many days (plus one if you seem to have my luck with half-frozen turkeys.) I already have my bird in my fridge. This year I will not find the neck still frozen to the inside of my bird. Oh who am I kidding, the turkey is my husband’s Thanksgiving task, so all future commentary on the bird should be attributed to his skills. I shall focus on planning a small feast for myself and my three housemates, who are picky. If you could send positive waves that this will be the year tiny hobbits like pie, I would appreciate it so much.~

Gratitude Journal: Week 2 [PREACHY]

 In case you didn’t catch last Sunday’s post or the excitement, terror, and continuing business of the past week has made you forget about it, these Sunday posts in November are inspired by a challenge to be grateful every day for our many blessing. My friend poses a question each day about what brings gratitude to our hearts and these are my responses.

Grateful, Naturally

What in nature are you grateful for?

I am grateful for everything in nature. I love the shade of the trees and their fruits. I love the peaceful calm of a gently flowing stream, but I also love shooting out over the rapids when I am floating along. And, of course, I love cute little animals. I was actually contentedly watching a fox watch me on my walk one morning until a rumbly car came along and broke our silent reflections on each other.

Now if I could only bring some of that peace and calm into my house. Keep in mind that letting a little fresh air wash through your house is strongly encouraged right now to let your own germs be vanquished on the winds.

~~

Gratitude Starts at Home

I am grateful for my mom’s patience as I trundled around under her feet in the kitchen and watched her cook. Despite their complaints that I made them fat, I know my roommates always appreciated the skills I learned at her feet.

I am grateful for those few times my brothers and I were all getting along and playing a board game or watching “Fraggle Rock”. Otherwise, we would probably never talk to each other. A few good memories are better than none after all.

I am grateful for warm blankets made of fuzzy cats. You can never feel unloved when the felines are hungry or cold. 

I am also grateful having “the cart before the horse” because the pie was always ready before the turkey.

~~

Friends Fill Our Hearts With Gratitude

I can’t pick just one friend that I am grateful for, but I can narrow it down to about six. Without naming names, I am grateful to them for many reasons including: no matter how long we go without talking, we end up dissolving in giggles over topics that mystify others; no matter how many times I call to complain about crappy people, those friends still pick up and listen no matter what is going on in their lives; they are willing to drive hundred or thousands of miles to help me eat birthday cake, even if life won’t actually let them; and of course, they never judge me for being the weirdo that I am, in fact, they love me for it.

~~

Music of Thanks

I am grateful for most music, particularly what one roommate referred to as whiny chick music, which includes Sarah McLachlan, Tori Amos, Fiona Apple, and Jewel. I also love hits from the 80s, as long as I don’t ponder the lyrics too closely.

During quarantine though, I have been appreciating a coupe of bands that have taken the time to perform live shows online. With two toddlers, I wouldn’t be able to see them at all in person, but I can listen to them with my toddlers in my living room when they livestream to Facebook. If you are friends with me, you may have noted that I have shared the musical stylings of The Clarks (a Pittsburgh band), Bill Deasy (another Pittsburgh crooner,) and my friend Greg. We creative types need to stick together and produce some joy in these tough times. (Still hoping this blog is helping to keep the blues at bay for my loyal readers.)

~~

Keep Dreaming

When I heard the description of the television show “The Pretender”, I thought that sounded like the perfect life for me. I have been interested in a variety of professions, but I always bounce back to writer, where one can at least write about being anyone or anything, though research is often required to make that believable. The image of Louisa May Alcott’s Jo from “Little Women” comes to my mind quite often. I wish I could disappear into a tiny room up in the gables of an old house and sit at my desk in my special writing clothes. I wish I could get down all these wild and crazy thoughts that flow through my head. But I don’t have time for that, so here I sit in November, adding word after hard fought word to my project of the month for National Novel Writing Month. So today, a little gratitude for words, those who employ them to wonderful ends, and those who encourage the creative spirits to share word after word no matter what form they take.

~~

Be Thankful to Be Employed

I am grateful that my little bosses are as cute as they are bossy. Being a stay at home mom can often be a thankless jobs, but those tiny hugs are totally worth it. And I never at a loss for tasks to perform, so I can’t be bored. Being bored in times like these can give one a little bit too much time for reflection and introspection. Be kind to yourselves and stay busy, friends.

~~

Thanks for All the Knowledge

I am thankful for things I know to be true, including that I am a child of a Heavenly Father who loves me, that my best is more than good enough, and that families can be together forever, even if some of them are driving us a little crazy right now.

Just so you know, Heavenly Father loves you, too. Whether you believe he exists or think you are worthy of divine love, you are loved.

And you are definitely good enough. Sometimes we let ourselves get bummed out because we wish we could do more. Ad long as you are doing your best, you are more than enough. Keep pushing forward and leave the world better than you found it.

~~

Dear loved ones,

As Thanksgiving approaches in the wild rollercoaster ride that is 2020, I write to you from the bottom of a grateful heart. I want you to know that I am grateful for you. I love your smiles and your hugs. I love learning from you and occasionally teaching you something new.

But most of all, in this time of COVID and isolation, I am grateful for my true friends. I am grateful for people I can call despite having not speaking to them for months and talk to them as if we are sitting across from each other with a glass of milk at one hand and a fork in the other—a fork loaded down with chocolate cake or pie, which is more appropriate for the season we are in. I am grateful for the friends who truly listen and truly care. They don’t judge me. They don’t tell me I need fixed, unless, of course, I have just asked them to share their expertise about subjects at which I struggle.

I am also grateful for people I can connect with virtually. The ones who read the excessive number of words I use to describe a given situation and remind me to look on the bright side. They respond when they can, not six weeks later after having posted at least a half dozen times a day in response to their true friends. (Honestly, if I didn’t think it was petty, I would thin my friends lists down to only the people I feel think of me as a friend. But that is ungrateful.) 

I am grateful for my friends who read and write and sing and play and create beauty through a variety of physical formats. I am trying to be better, friends, at reminding you that you are amazing instead of just asking for reassurance that someone besides me cares about my words. Thanks, dear readers, for taking the time to read my words and give me honest feedback on how they touched you. I am hoping to connect and exchange better with my fellow creators in the new year, but trying to work that out will have to wait until after I finish 50,000 words for Nanowrimo and probably until after Christmas. ’Tis the season to be perpetually busy, isn’t it?

I am thankful for those few moments of down time I manage to snag. I have to get up early and sneak out into the pre-dawn chill to do it some days, but it is needed in this time when I am blessed with so much time with my family. I am grateful for the fact that they like me enough to vote me off the island on days when I am not the queen of happy and joyful.

And, of course, I am grateful for those who came before me. From time to time, I climb my family tree and find a little bit of me in the stories I find carved on the branches. I love the newspaper story about a great great great uncle who still mowed his own lawn at 101. I love hearing about ancestors who loved to create because it helps me feel a connection with them. And any time I hear about a relative that likes to bake or tame animals, I nod my head and think how great it is that those attributes are clearly genetic.

Feel free to share what you are grateful for with me, your family, and other loved ones.