When my eyes opened at 5:05am today, I thought two things. First, that I had 'slept in', because for the previous two mornings, I woke up for no particular reason whatsoever at 4:30am, like that's just a thing I do now, and Adulting is getting more fun by the minute around here. Second, I realized that I had to go to the grocery store. It's 48 hours before the biggest food holiday of the year, and I have to go brave it alone.
I showered and said a prayer in front of the mirror, "Please God, let this go smooth. Let me stick to my list, let any impulse buy be chocolate. Let me keep a little faith in humanity. Let my journey be safe and swift and, if it's not too much to ask, let stuff be on sale. Let me find a little joy. Let me always remember that if I die in the parking lot of a Wal-Mart, it is Your Will."
Spoiler Alert: I didn't die. Am grateful.
On the quiet, windy drive to the store, I started running through Holiday's Past. Once, the boy ate an entire Thanksgiving dinner and then barfed, prompting everyone to play our favorite holiday game, "Food Poisoning or Stomach Bug?" The boy turned 18 in October. This is the last holiday season that he is legally required to attend.
On a Thanksgiving Eve, years ago, my dearly departed mother-in-law bragged about a garage sale find- a $1 hand mixer. She pulled it out of the box and started mixing something for the next day's dinner, and then the mixer blew up and the roasted turkey smell competed with the smell of burnt plastic.
My dad loved to take a perfectly roasted turkey from the oven and soak up all of the praise for it, even though I have never been sure what exactly he did to it besides put it into the oven and then take it back out again hours later. But, in all of my memories, I see him standing with his electric carving knife smiling.
Holidays are like that, huh?
I wanted to give my kids picture perfect holidays, straight from a Thomas Kinkade painting holidays, I wanted Thanksgiving with a perfect turkey and a 'tablescape' straight from the pages of a magazine. But, I'm staring down the barrel of 40, and I'm learning, ever so slowly, that those paintings aren't real. They come from a bottle of paint. (I should note that at least a little of my holidays are going to come from a bottle, too. Thanks Winery of Ellicottville!)
On my trek to the grocery store, I was standing in what I thought was a low traffic area, trying to rearrange the items in my cart to make room, when a lady came from behind. She had a cart piled high with all of the usual suspects and I heard her say, "I converted the recipe wrong, so I was short on green beans." And I honestly wanted to say, "Same." Aren't we all just a few beans short of a full casserole?
I made my way to the beverage aisle and there was a tiny old lady trying to reach a 2 liter of Ginger Ale from a too high shelf, so I offered to help. Maybe I can't give my kids the perfect holiday, but I can reach the Ginger Ale for somebody's grandma. Maybe I can't have everyone at the table that I long to sit with, but I can be grateful or the ones that are there, and hope for the best next year.
If you are reading this, then you play a role in my life, and I am grateful for you. I give thanks that you're reading this. I hope and pray that you have a smooth and tasty holiday. If you're missing someone special from your table, let me say that I am sorry, and I feel you. If you're alone for the holiday, and you don't want to be, call me, we'll figure something out. If you're expecting the perfect holiday, worthy of a canvas, I hope that you aren't disappointed and that you tell me how you did it. If you still have to go to the grocery store to prep for your dinner- the prayer in the first part of this story seemed to work out pretty well for me.
Happy Thanksgiving.
