Prologue

Over the river and through the woods to … wait a minute. I am the grandmother, or at least old enough to be one. So, no grandma to visit. Instead sister Starla, Astoria friend Vicki Reece, and I traversed the states’ highways to arrive at the home of long time friend Stephanie Ames in Florence, Oregon to celebrate Thanksgiving, along with our three dogs. This family affair brought chaos and calories to the Ames residence, and lots of joy — especially to the four-leggeds who alternatively barked, growled, played with, and terrorized each other.

There seemed to be more complicated family dynamics among the dogs than between us humans. Standard Poodle, Olive, who grew up on and off with miniature long-haired Doxie, Jackson, still wants to be the boss-dog no matter what. Maltese-mix Blu huddled on the sidearm of the sofa for the duration, except for group walks around the periphery of the local park. But all in all no doggos were harmed in the course of creating this Thanksgiving celebration

The main event

Getting out of one’s comfort zone and trying to cook in someone else’s kitchen is a challenge that can, as we’ve been told, stimulate new brain cells (like brushing your teeth with your opposite hand…?). So despite a rather constant chorus of things like “where is the garlic press?” “foil?” “gravy boat?” “sauté pan?” “turkey baster?” “slotted spoon?” ringing out for most of the three-day adventure, we survived and, maybe, added to our mental capacities. For sure our laugh muscles got exercised.

The menu: turkey of course, dry-brined 24-plus hours with a salt and spices mix then covered with melted butter; gravy from the drippings; stuffing like-mom-used-to-make; a fabulous roasted cauliflower and feta side dish; fresh and canned cranberry sauce; mashed potatoes (Yukon golds, per Martha Stewart); fruit salad with yogurt; and pumpkin pie from the Table 360 Bakery and Bistro; with enough whipped cream to choke an alligator. This doesn’t count the various munchies available: clam dip; pretzel chips; filled Lebanon baloney cornucopias; jalapeno stuffed olives; peppermint bark; chocolate covered cherries; crispy cheese balls; and various cookie choices.

So, can the thankfulness list begin with food? I believe it must. (Though is it too gauche to mention that in Sudan, specifically around Darfur, there is the most under-reported and most critical global starvation crisis happening now? Talking about one’s own good fortune inevitably foregrounds the people all over the globe who are suffering.)

Let’s not forget that everything we took for granted on this Thanksgiving weekend — a house with modern amenities: a roof, running hot and cold water, a furnace, beds and linen, a completely outfitted kitchen with bursting-at-the-seams refrigerator and freezer; automobiles and roads which took us someplace and brought us home; reasonably priced energy; beautiful weather (every day in Florence was sunny and bright!); friends and family (so many have lost beloveds in Israel, Gaza, Syria, Iran, Ukraine, and, Democratic Republic of Congo, Lebanon, and, yes, Russia during this last year); game options: Rummikub, Qwirkle, Bananagrams, Exploding Kittens, CatchPhrase; warm clothing; and piles of shoes and slippers by the front door — are all Western nation givens that are lacking in so many other parts of the world.

Our bodies, ourselves

Can we also talk health? We are so blessed in our country to have access to hospitals and clinics; expert medical providers; the tools, equipment, medicines and supplies needed to keep our bodies in working order. And for those of us in reasonably good health, halleluiah! We slept well. We woke up in the mornings. We walked and ran and our joints were flexible. We were not in pain. We did not have to give birth in a car, a tent, or a destroyed city.

The body politic

Thankfully, we did not talk politics.. much. We did not read the news (or tried not to, some more successfully than others). We did not argue with the neighbors; or the other people in the grocery store; or the guys with Trump banners still hanging on their trucks in the parking lots.

Love

We held hands. We stayed close. We cuddled. We put our arms around each other. We delivered hugs often. We said, “I love you” a lot.

Stardust incarnate

We were happy to be alive and together and conscious. Consciousness itself is one of the most miraculous gifts of the universe. What are the chances that on our tiny blue dot hurtling through space in the whole of the cosmos, an atmosphere formed; elements, atoms, and molecules starting clumping up and getting together and creating life; and that life evolved in strange and unusual ways; that one adventurous fish, Tiktaalik roseae, crept out of the sea onto land; that land animals began and grew into enormous dinosaurs; that an asteroid that blotted out the sun made way for mammals to differentiate and multiply; that some strain of those oddball mammalian creatures came down from the trees, developed dexterous hands, stood up on two legs, and became — la voila! — us? It’s almost more than one could ever imagine, even with a big brain. But nonetheless, here we are, nearly finished brachiating through another full year and swinging into a new one.

What could be more amazing? Nothing.

So let’s stop killing each other, and arguing, and ranting about silly things we think are so important, and start being kind to each other and grateful for every little thing we have right now. So ‘scuse me while I sit in my big chair — with a hot cup of coffee, Jackson asleep at my feet, a turkey sandwich beside me on a TV tray — and watch through the slider as the birds hop around on my porch on this phenomenal day after the day after Thanksgiving.