The artful dodge

What is it about Thanksgiving that can be so stressful and fantastic at the same time. Culinary stars are born, family that you’ve not seen in ages coming together. The parade. The odd things kids say and do. It’s all so warm and loving and a great way to reminisce and ponder upon family.

And yet . . .

Well, I’ll be honest. I usually stress out during this time of year. I think it’s all of the guilt about food, the family I’ve not seen in years, the garish parade, children underfoot and bored. It’s all so taxing and reminds you of how tight some strings are.

Like everything, Thanksgiving comes with a pull and tug. So, for those of you spending time with family and looking for some tactful ways out of emotionally ugly conversations, here are some tips:

1. If the conversation, say “how’s your relationship/love life/marriage” occurs over the table, immediately compliment a nearby dish. This is very effective if the asker is also the cook. I don’t care if you don’t know a teaspoon from a tablespoon, ask how it’s made, what goes in it, where did the recipe come from.

2. Then there is the frequent bladder syndrome. Someone corners you about work or finances or anything that makes your eyes roll to the back of your head normally, then go to the “oh, sorry, be right back. I think I had too much tea/coffee/jack daniel’s.”

3. Extended conversation (this requires cell phones). A younger cousin is asking advice or wanting to know about what you are getting out of life, you reflect the questions back on them and while listening, send a friend an SOS text message so they can call you and you pretend it’s important, life threatening, cats are out, water pipe is broken, etc.

4. Now, to all of you that are single, this is the mother of all dodges. As soon as nosy-so-and-so asks when you are getting (I’m shuddering on the inside just typing it) married, look them dead in the eye and ask “are you honestly happy in your marriage? If you are, I’ll consider it one day.” And then walk away.If they are divorced or widowed, then just ask how they feel about Obama and Hillery working together. Maybe your tact will spread.

It’s my observation that the people that ask you these personal, gut wrenching questions on a celebratory holiday are deeply unhappy human beings. There is a petty dark spot in my soul that wants to shine the light of their misery upon them. Not this year though. This year I have enough to be thankful for that I know I’m out ahead by leaps and bounds. A president that most Americans wanted got elected. I have my family and friends for the long term and don’t have to squeeze every moment of my time here, because I’m here. Though I miss Luigi and Lexie and all the other elements of Florence, I’m lucky that I live now, in a time where the only boundaries are really time zones. I can hear their voice and occasionally I can fly and see them. Life is beautiful.

Wishing everyone a Thanksgiving of grace and joy.

Saturdaying

The appeal to extend Saturday’s usage as a verb is evident in the fact that it’s 9:49 a.m. and I’m not at work. There is a mug of coffee next to me (not a plastic travel cup). I have on mismatched pajamas with an old sweater and I made myself mushrooms and a fried egg for breakfast. Not only that, I have only loose plans for the day and all of them involve fun things — meeting with friends, going to a movie, introducing kitties to the rest of the apartment. In short, my priorities for the day run towards pleasure and reveal the part of me that is not in a suit, or in a meeting, or inwardly rolling my eyes at the inanity of “organization” in a corporation.

It’s Saturday. And I for one think this day deserves to be a verb. Ideally, yes, it should be used on Saturdays only, but then again, some of us are unable to experience the essence of a Saturday on a Saturday. (I’m remembering my own Saturdays at the bookstore. Lovely men customers. Sigh.) To those unfortunate ones working, then please, feel free to use Saturday at your discretion.

But now I have to run, I must Saturday for the rest of the day.

now push

Last night I remarked in a chat with Luigi that I felt like the walls were trying to push me out. I feel like the unwanted afterbirth of my surroundings. Something in me is angry and restless and lonely — all things trembling and gnawing.

And I know the reasons. I just hate to voice them. Abandoning addictions; months (honestly years) of uprooted exposure; self imposed muzzle. Everyone points out that I’ve come semi-circle. The apartment I live in now in the opposite building of where I first moved into. That was the time I first began to seriously consider writing. As I migrated around the horse shoe of the apartments; a new level was reached.

Then I left — for a long time I left.

And so, it seems fitting that I sit, bloated and gassy and wanting it all out. So the walls are squeezing me out. My loved ones are waiting. Everything is raw and at the end of this tunnel I can only hope someone will be able to clean up the mess.

Yep, it’s time.

Junebug and Carter

I have new roomies!!!

Carter and Junebug

They don’t pay rent and they definitely do not clean up after themselves, but they are worth it.

Commitment

If I write it, it is true, yes?

Saturday I dropped Luigi off and picked Shelby up at the airport. He was jokingly calling me the “eternal host” due to my busy house schedule, but Shelby chipped in and helped me clean and tidy the apartment for Sunday’s big cheese party. Yes, someone brought up fondue and the next thing you know wars are waged on Cheddar and Swiss and chocolate.

I did not take any pictures. Which is one reason why I’m writing this. I have a few promises to make after the day of cheese.

• First, I must download and post all of the pictures I’ve taken since August 8 of this year.
• Second, eating is lighter and better for me as of today.
• Third, my ugly habits are meeting their end times. This is my pre-holiday resolution.

Any advice? Encouragement? I’ll need every good vibe I can get.

On top of all of this, I want to commit myself to an attitude adjustment. Looking at Luigi’s pictures of my city, there is so much I just don’t see because I just don’t have the energy. There is nothing and no one preventing me from exploring all the juicy tidbits my hometown has to offer. Work is work and it pays the bills — but life . . . well, you have to pay attention to it while you can.

realities (big and small)

I had 2 emails waiting for me this morning that put things into a strange perspective about the election and our dear citizens. A small part of me wants to ignore it and put it away forever — but then, that’s not sharing and that’s not what I’m about.

One of my friends who lives in the rural South, sent me her reasons of why she voted for Obama. They were beautiful and true. And yet she describes the undercurrent of racism that she felt the day after the election. The conservative co-workers clearly upset, the community that doesn’t celebrate. She shared a hug with a fellow co-worker; but only when no one was around. The underlying fear of seeming too happy or too celebratory in a restricted community. On the inside, she wants to yell from the roof-tops.

And all of this makes me wish I were a lion. I wish I could roar and claw. I wish I could make people tremble with my gaze. I want to be an animal that drives the ugliness into the light and sink my teeth into it. I want to shred its flesh off and leave it bare  bones and defeated. But I’m not. I’m just a human, with a bit of reason about me. A human that knows this very scenerio of fear and doubt has been dealt a blow Nov. 4th, 2008. I’m a human that doesn’t have to resort to the animal, because the animal is us. And we decided — sans claws and blood and flesh — enough.

The other email was from a former student of mine in Florence. She wanted to write me and let me know she thought of me on Election Day and she is excited for the US. She is excited for the world. She knew that I would be happy and just wanted to share her own happiness at our election of Obama. Someone so far away. For those of you that never have left the country and do not look at international news, you have to understand the devastating impact the past 8 years have had on the world. There are people on rooftops all over, celebrating. Now if only every American citizen felt comfortable enough to do the same.

Happy birthday to my dearest Lori. Sorry this post isn’t about how important and wonderful you are — but you are. Thanks for the years of friendship, magical rambles and understanding.

Yes we did!

Jon Stewart gave me the best news ever last night at around 11 pm. And then I finally allowed the tears and the champagne to flow.

I’m so proud of the country and that blue tip at the edge of US that we call Florida. Everyone, give yourselves and your neighbors a pat on the shoulders. I’d love to hear how you will remember it. Write it down now before the memory fades. History people. Real history. Wow.

love love love and happiness . . .

(Shelby, this has to be the best birthday present ever, right? I mean, the whole country chipped in.)

VOTE

vote vote vote vote vote vote

vote vote vote vote vote vote

and then vote again!!!

fingers crossed, breath held . . .

is there champagne in the near future?