I AM Grateful...I'm Just Not Good At It

It’s November, the month that we count our blessings. A time of year we reflect on how thankful we are for what we have. Right now what I have is a dirty house, a door that needs painting, a floor that needs tiling, a crooked curtain rod and a bunch of relatives coming over. Early in October when I suggested that we have Thanksgiving dinner at my house it sounded like a good idea. Now I’m thinking a protracted stay in the hospital attached to life support sounds better.

The season of giving thanks followed by the season of giving has become the time of year I am struck with Alzheimer’s. My perpetual chant throughout November and December seems to be, “What did I forget?” and “I wonder where that is?” and “I’ve got to remember to ...!” Yes, I make lists. I’m the Queen of Lists. Unfortunately, my lists don’t seem to be where I need them when I need them. It’s a rule.

Of course, I must come up with a menu. Given that Thanksgiving is a traditional meal that’s not hard. What is hard is negotiating what each guest will bring. If Cousin Kathy wants to bring Apple Pie and it’s well known her crust chews like a popped basketball, it’s my job to remind her how much everyone is looking forward to her green bean casserole. And does anyone actually own 21 matching placemats? That calls for shopping at the Dollar Store. They have Christmas stuff; that means I will be seriously sidetracked from my goal. Where’s that damn list!

I tell myself to breathe and work on my gratefulness skills. I take a deep breath and swoosh it out slowly and try to think thankful thoughts. Oh Crap!! Mark STILL hasn’t fixed the front step! My mom’s going to break her leg before she even gets in the door. We’ll end up spending Thanksgiving in the ER trying to snort out that ammonia-funk smell while pleading for forgiveness. That’s IT. Mark’s a slacker and he’s not getting any pie. Assuredly this approach will lead to bickering; which in turn will become sniping and bottom out with him getting no pie!

This Thanksgiving will end like the last one and the one before that and the one before that…Dinner done, the last guest gone, tired to the point of exhaustion, my husband and I will be draped on the couch like overcooked noodles. We’ll smile in that shared agony sort of way and I’ll say “I’m so thankful that’s over!” And he’ll say, “Only 31 more days till Christmas.” Do you hear that? That is the sound of my husband swallowing his roasted nuts!

Hmmm, just a thought as I stand in the checkout line …maybe I could wander off somewhere, lost to family and friends, only to be found some months later in a briar-covered mansion deep in the forest with a wait-staff of 7 (if so, I don’t know you, Alzheimer’s, remember?)

Arlo & Me

Arlo: Short, happy, brown-eyed, male
Me: Short, happy, blue-eyed, female

Run, Run as fast as you can...from Silent Hill

Just coming down from my coffee/candy high. Whew! Those bite size bars will ruin you; especially the ones that are too little to do more than pop the whole thing in your mouth. Tomorrow when I’m shimmying to pull my pants over my fat ass I will moan and groan about ‘em or when I’m thinking about installing a ‘to go’ pipe from my computer to the bathroom, but while I’m throwing them down I don’t bother to count. It wasn’t till my son said something about the silver Christmas tree I was building with wrapper balls that I even noticed.

I love holidays. All of them. Halloween was a slide this year. No hurrying, no mess of makeup, pins, and wigs strewn everywhere. Mark lit the fire pit so all the witches, Snow Whites, Darth Vaders, Pole Dancers (!), Magicians, etc. could warm themselves while awaiting their fistful of candy, my son manned the candy bowl and off we went to dinner. That’s right! Dinner out on Halloween.

I saw a lot of cute outfits but the Starbucks girl, wearing blue scrubs with random patches of white webbing and sporting a spray bottle at her hip won the prize. She was ‘cloudy skies with a chance of rain’. Yeah, I got ‘rained’ on when I asked her what she was.

With all the kids tucked up in my bed watching Beetlejuice, it was time for FrIgHt. We chose to watch Silent Hill because it looked creepy, properly scary, but not too blood and gorish. Understatement follows: this is a very bad movie. It was scarier watching my neighbor pick his butt than it was watching this woman try to get her child back. From where, you might ask. I don’t know, I would reply. Sorry movie – one of the worst I’ve ever actually sat through. By the end I was ready to suck wrapper balls up my nose just so I could pass out.