Ssshhhhhh

Wow, life has sped up recently and doesn't show signs of slowing anytime soon. I am trying to find my [figurative] sneakers so I can keep up.

And once again, Thanksgiving is upon us. A lovely holiday, truly. Like any holiday, though, it can become fraught with idealistic expectations and high drama. Will the turkey be perfect? Will everyone make it to Grandma's on time? Will anyone eat too much and feel ill? Will someone make awkward comments about when so-and-so might finally get married and/or have a baby? Will anyone fight in public, or loudly discuss matters that should remain private?

Well, you'll have to see for yourself. We'll all be celebrating in our own little worlds, or choosing not to participate in the over-fed madness. Some folks will not be celebrating at all, and will be alone; I am hoping God puts those people on my heart, because for many folks, that emptiness will be a sad state, and it doesn't have to be that way...

Re: expectations and drama, I'll say only this. In the Bible study I'm taking, we met in our small groups, and were all instructed to take turns telling about the happiest time of our lives. Many of the women in my group mentioned the obvious big days: birth of children, wedding, anniversaries... But one woman who's a cancer survivor mentioned how she's begun to cherish the quiet, un-momentous occasions in her life—those moments when she is subtly aware of contentedness, when she can hear God's still, small voice, when she feels blessed and fully aware of her blessings. Those glimpses are more precious to her now, because they offer views into a deeper happiness that is based on much more than circumstances.

And she is right, I think. I pondered how big, happy moments tend to make me feel uneasy, suspicious—when I experience that state, I immediately begin waiting for the proverbial other shoe to drop. In my pre-diabetic sensibility, I suppose that "happy" has begun to feel like a sugar rush to me... A rush that, as we all should know by now, is followed shortly thereafter by a blood sugar crash.

So, like my acquaintance, I'll be seeking the softer, subtler happy. It's unlikely that the upcoming holidays will be perfect, and that's okay. We are, after all, more than our food and families. We are more than what we buy, or what we experience. Our lives are a tapestry, not all bright colors and splashy designs, but tattered sections and dull, sparrow-like shades, too. We need to adjust our vision to see all the moments around us, even the quiet beige ones. To my way of thinking, sugar-rush emotions will never compare to simple delights of this world.

Wishing you a grateful heart that can see blessings,

mel

Weird, wild suburban visitor

It was late morning, and the boy and I were out front. I was pulling weeds (my least favorite yet most common outdoor activity), and the kiddo was drawing race tracks and driveways on the sidewalk with his chunky chalk. It was quiet, which is rather unusual since my son is a bit of a chatty guy, and we were both focused on our work in the chilly sunshine.

I saw something from the corner of my eye, and glanced up at Marcus—only to catch my breath. Directly behind my little boy, not more than four feet away, a behemoth wild tom turkey was strolling along. Marcus, who was completely oblivious, looked up and saw me staring with intent interest at him; before he could ask me why, I instructed him quietly, “Turn around and look behind you, slowly.” He did as he was told, without a word, and the giant bird was so close to him that a single step forward would have allowed him to reach out and touch its shimmery-dull brown feathers.

His head swiveled back around, still slowly (good listening!), and the expression on his sweet face was absolutely priceless. He didn’t burst into tears, or holler, or say a word, but his eyes were huge and I could tell he was pretty uncomfortable with the proximity of that ridiculous creature as it strutted past, waddle bobbing with each step. “It’s a wild turkey, honey—isn’t it big?” I said softly. He nodded, and turned to look at it once again.

The tom had continued on his way, and was stepping out onto the road to cross it. He never looked at us, never wavered from his path in any way, simply trod across the street and up into the neighbor’s back yard, out of sight. It was rather surreal. I thought about creeping over to the neighbor’s to try taking a photograph, but even if I were successful (highly unlikely, considering my history), it seemed anticlimactic somehow; I’d missed capturing the best picture of all, that being the enormous creature right behind—and standing nearly as tall as—my astonished son.

And just a few hours later that same day? Our first hummingbird of the year showed up at the feeder. I pointed him out to Marcus, and we watched the tiny miracle zipping away toward the tallest tree. I said to him, “Can you believe that little hummer and that huge turkey are both birds? How can that be?”

His answer was simple, yet profound in its honesty: “I do not know.”

Neither do I, my boy. Neither do I. But I do know that the more I see, the more certain I am that none of it is accidental. What an amazing Creator is obvious in everything around us.

Go out and be awed today. (You can be odd, too, if you’d like. I highly recommend both.)

A great-full day

Well, since the last post was such a controversial topic, I think I’ll go with something a little less touchy this time—maybe politics? Ha ha ha. Kidding. I told you this wasn’t that kind of site.

I’ll go with something safe: Thanksgiving memories. They’ve changed dramatically over the years. When I was a kid, we often went to my paternal grandma’s for the meal. Ma-Ma made her famous stuffing balls, I think we usually brought green bean casserole and corn pudding, the ladies fussed over the turkey as it roasted for hours, and I enjoyed what at that time was the highlight of my holiday: exposure to MTV. My grandmother had it, since she resided in a huge apartment in town, while we lived in the country and had far fewer channels. We tweens and teens would gather in the living room, eyes glued to the screen to catch the latest videos (yes, there actually used to be videos on MTV) and then we’d go stuff ourselves, help clean up, and retire to the living room for more viewing, this time in a semi-comatose state.

When I moved out to go to college, Thanksgiving became a time of sleep, eating real food, and doing laundry. The main meal still happened at my grandma’s, occasionally at my great aunt’s, and my sister brought the first great grandchild into the mix—my nephew Tim. Although, I can’t recall him being there every time, because they lived in Washington, D.C. and the trip (especially with a small child) was probably no picnic.

Years passed, more of my nieces and another nephew followed, and Thanksgiving morphed into a hair-raising trip from the great white north, where I was teaching school. Most years I waited until the big morning to drive home, partly because the traffic was light, and partly because then I could get together with friends the night before the big trip. I can remember a few sunrise journeys where I gripped the steering wheel, stealing frightened glances at my predecessors who’d gone a bit too fast and had slid into no-man’s land in the middle of opposing highway lanes. There the abandoned cars sat, station wagons, little foreign death traps, even some SUVs and trucks, all stranded and helpless on that strip of frosted green. One year was especially bad, and I recall counting 13 cars in a relatively short stretch of what must have been black ice the night before. I don’t miss those drives. Thanksgiving was especially sobering because you knew, with growing certainty at each passing mile, that it was just a warm-up for the real hell to follow: the Christmas commute.

Then I moved back to southwestern PA, and a short time later met Todd. Thanksgivings became a very busy time, gathering with multiple family branches in a 2- or 3-day span. I remember the first time I attended his YiaYia’s Thanksgiving meal, because it was the first time I’d tasted spanakopita and grape leaves. I believe I dropped a grape leaf on the floor, the kind of thing you are wont to do in a gathering of strangers whom you want very much to impress. Alas, they did not kick me out of the meal and here I am, years later, now a member of the family. We ate at Todd’s mom’s and at my parents’ home; nowadays, my sister and her husband usually host the meal for my side of the family.

One year was extra-special because Todd had proposed just a few weeks before. Another year stands out because we’d just purchased and moved into our first house. And a few short years ago, I remember being pregnant with my sweet little guy on Thanksgiving. It’s a good thing I really pigged out when I could; little did I know I’d be counting carbs and pricking my fingers for glucose tests in years to come…

And this year? I’m sitting in my own home, inhaling the delectable scent of turkey that roasts upstairs in my very own oven. We’ve watched some of the big Thanksgiving Day Parade, have built amazing things with Duplos, have basted, have played with cars, have basted again, etc. It’s been nice to just chill—especially since my son puked on me three times in one day earlier this week. Yep, stomach flu. It’s clearing up now, and he actually ate something other than saltines and kept it down today—hurray! So, it’s a real blessing that we opted to dine in this year. (Can anything affect your appetite more adversely than being on the receiving end of partially digested food offerings? I think not.)

Hope the turkey turns out great for every household reading this. I truly pray that we can all feel genuinely appreciative of the many blessings we enjoy every day. Life’s too short to live ungratefully.

And perhaps tomorrow, perhaps in a few days, we’ll break out the Christmas music here in our home. Perhaps.