The ups and downs of the Holidays

 

An American turkey in Canada

Now that I've been a widow for two years, I have high hopes that the holidays will not be like the past two, filled with anxiety, dread, too much wine, and tears.

Wait, I promised zero sad posts, so I'll cut to the chase: Halloween was fantastic- I dressed up and laughed and met neighbors- all with a mask or from across the street.

Now, on Thanksgiving eve, it's not going great, but it's been worse. and frankly, other people- the smart ones anyway- are having less than stellar holiday dinners on Thursday, so I'm not alone. I'll be with my mom. Just the two of us- party, party party!

I'll get through it, but the memories are more than turkey and pie. There's the one where I was on TV in Canada and burned my leg with the green bean water and the one at Flanigan's Inn when we took over management at the Red Rock Inn B& B in Zion. Oh, and playing golf indoors through the house in Chelan and the countless family gatherings outside on the lawn at our house in Vista, usually followed by a rousing game of Bocce ball and someone falling down our driveway.

Indoor golf

Bocce Ball at night

I miss my son in Canada and my husband out in the Universe and my friends and family, but once this damn plague has been eradicated- along with COVID-19...things will go back to normal. A new normal.

In the meantime, here's a memory I wrote a while back- sorry about the weird cut & paste. Enjoy it and let's mask up and get through these difficult times. 

The day before I hosted my first Reed Thanksgiving in La Mesa, I was in my kitchen baking pies, making stuffing, and boiling potatoes when the doorbell rang. I answered quickly as my babies were napping. A woman was standing on my porch in the rain— it rained on holidays in the old days. She told me she was waiting for the neighbors across the street to come home. She was a distant cousin or something, but of course, I ushered her into the warm house. As she dried off with some towels, she told me she had taken a bus from downtown to visit her friends...because she had just been released from prison. Uh-oh. For trying to kill her no-good cheating husband. Uh-oh. And she couldn't wait to find the bastard so she could finish the job. Then she started to cry. I grabbed my big knife...and offered to make her a sandwich. I put cartoons on the TV—at her request—and as she ate and laughed loudly at Bugs Bunny, I called Ralph to come home and save us all...on the busiest grocery shopping day of the year. He told me to kick her out and hung up for a clean-up on aisle four. Then she came into the kitchen and showed me her secret weapon while traveling alone...brass knuckles. The woman was wearing brass knuckles in my Thanksgiving kitchen! Finally, The Husband came home and firmly told her to go sit on the neighbor’s porch and wait. He then told me to stop picking up stray people and gave me a hug, because he knew, after even only a few years of marriage, that I would always offer a stranger warmth in my kitchen—even if she was wearing brass knuckles. Happy Thanksgiving!