I love Thanksgiving. It’s the kind of holiday anyone can warm up to, religious or not. It’s a four day weekend for some, it might be the only time of year we see certain family members, and it’s a segue to the next holiday on the docket: Christmas. Now we can put up those trees without judgment, Thanksgiving being some kind of impenetrable barrier to Christmas that one must not cross until the proper celebration has taken place.
Thanksgiving is the time of year that memories of my Grandma Mae bubble up to the surface and wrap me in a warm blanket. Time spent with her was so simple: eating good food, playing an infinite number of made-up games in the basement, cards, Ghosts in the Graveyard, putting up her tree, drinking her Diet Rite and eating cookies. I will always be thankful that she was around my entire childhood. This year marks 13 years gone. Where did that time go?
We honored her memory today by making strudel. Heavy, doughy, wonderful strudel. I know Grandma was with me in each and every strudel I ate today. Let me tell you, she was with me for a long time because I could not get enough of them. Those doughy, German concoctions swell once they get inside of you, too, so it was an all day affair for Grandma.
Did you know my Grandma Mae had a whole drawer in her kitchen for flour? A whole drawer! I bet every time she opened that drawer she was thankful for it. I would be.
I am thankful daily for this beautiful life I’ve been given. I think I’ve got problems, but I don’t. I try not to take it for granted, but it’s easy to forget how blessed I am when I’ve got three tired, hungry kids at my feet vying for my attention and dinner’s not made and the toilet is overflowing and there’s a small mountain of laundry piling up in the dining room because that’s a completely normal place to store dirty clothes. It’s not easy to step back and see that I have three healthy kids, plenty of food, an indoor toilet and an abundance of clothing.
Every single time I open up the washing machine, I whisper “Thank you” to Mr. Alva Fisher for patenting it. Without it, I would be leading a life of disposable clothing because ain’t nobody got time to go out to the river and beat their clothes on a rock these days. I’ve given it a lot of thought and the washing machine is somewhere right after my family on my Thankfulness Top 10.
I’m going to take it easy this weekend and try not to confuse Lime-A-Ritas with La Croix Lime (to all things a time and a purpose and all), while mixing in a little cooking, a little crafting, a little shopping, and, of course, a little laundry.
Happy Thanksgiving to all, from me and Mr. Fisher.