2 pounds of butter.

Holidays can be tough around here without our most loved family and friends. School makes it tougher questioning the children about their upcoming plans and quizzing them about the events when they return to school. When we set off to our new home in Tennessee, I never imagined not visiting the home state in the time that has passed. Every time someone complains about being with their family for the holiday, I want to cry.

I think we pulled together a great 3rd Tennessee Thanksgiving. I used 2 pounds of butter and cooked enough for 30. All the children participated in the meal preparations even though it would have been easier to push them out the door. I took a nap. Movies were watched. Walks were taken. Cat soaked in the sun in the screen porch.  Scott played hide and seek at dusk with the kids. Pumpkin and Pecan Pie was ate. Tummies are full.

I could have pushed the kids out of the kitchen, but where else are they going to learn their Grandma's mad cooking abilities. Hopefully, I have a few of them.

There may be a lot to grunt and be sad and worry about, but there are so many things to be thankful for. The overlooked things that are big. Food, shelter, clothing, love, life, health, family, friends old and new. Today proved how fortunate and happy we are. We have each other. We have you.  Even if miles and money separate us from you, you had a place at the table in our hearts.

Happy Thanksgiving.

Missing Kindergarten Pajama Day

Good news: I don't think I will have to sleep with Hello Kitty tonight for the first time all week. She hogs the bed. Seriously. Or maybe it is the two children, cat, and Hello Kitty. I am not sure.

Good news: Singular has been helpful in controlling asthma attacks, maybe. Little girl hasn't missed a day of school all year. Oxygen readings have been great despite the scoughing and vomiting at night.

Bad news: Little girl's body finally gave in after her trigger, whatever that is. We know the tiniest of viruses or allergens cause chaos in her body.  Fever. Congestion in her chest. Likely settled into bronchitis or pneumonia.

Tomorrow is the first Kindergarten Pajama day in her classroom. Most of the time, big boy skips it because he finds teasing, bullying, whathaveyou, to wear pajamas on the bus, in the lunch room, at recess, and everywhere it is outside the classroom to be intolerable. I find the whole thing silly, and I am thankful I never had to wear my pajamas to school. I may have to let her wear her pajamas to the Pediatric clinic tomorrow. Or maybe just go out and buy her new pajamas to make up for this "missed" opportunity.

Or perhaps I will wear my pajamas in solidarity.

Turkey Vultures and Andy Griffith

We all have favorite moments in our day, if we take the time to pause and reflect about it. There are always moments of defeat, sadness, loneliness and anxiety. Those are the moments that are easy to sweat about and keep us up at night with worry. Then there are always those little things in life that tend to be overlooked that bring much meaning to our journey.

I could write about another Saturday morning where the kids are up before the last owl in the neighborhood sounds and bored before I get the chance to brew coffee, but I will save that for another day when I identify the said owl(s) or brew coffee quick enough.  I could write about seeing my first turkey vulture while exclaiming, "OMG, there is a turkey vulture!" I had no idea there was, indeed, a turkey vulture. I thought I named it myself. I felt proud until I googled it. 

But today's favorite moment didn't come from hearing owls or seeing turkey vultures or the kids sleeping past 7 a.m.. My children never sleep in. Nor do I think you are all bird watchers and are interested in Owls or Turkey Vultures. I didn't spot either today. My favorite moments came from the most unexpected visitor.

We were all in the yard picking up, tossing footballs with our children and friends, playing with leaves in the early evening. I look down the hill, and I spot a neighbor from down the road. He is walking up carefully with a walking stick. About a yard away, he calls out, "You really do live up the hill." He gets to the boundary of our lawn and pauses. Scott and I joined him. The kids rushed in the house to gather the walking sticks he crafted for them to show him how much they appreciate his gift. I quickly rush them back into the house to put them in their safe keeping places. They are special and beautiful. Mr. Bill is self reminded he wants to make one for the little bear of our house.

What makes this moment a favorite was not only the effort he made to make it up the hill, but what he shares with our family. He is sharing stories of his Native American and East Tennessee heritage. Stories we are yet too unfamiliar with. He shares gifts from his hands in the form of walking sticks. He shares time sitting outside with my children telling stories. Teaching lessons. Tales from the past. Tonight he had stories to share that were worth the walk up the hill.

He spoke about where he grew up in the coal mining towns of East Tennessee. The stories he told could have been right out of a The Andy Griffith Show. He was a very young "dispatcher" in a small coal mining town. Scott and I looked at each other when he said the town had no segregation issues in the day, because they lived on that side of town and we lived on the other, but we all were friends and came and went as we chose. Perhaps the last part is the key as they were able to share the community? I cannot do justice to the story about the night Ms. Agnes, a colored woman, happened upon some moonshine. How the judge fined her upon her plea guilt for public intoxication -  $17.50 for her and $17.50 for her dog - after the teen-aged Mr. Bill was so kind for allowing her to keep the dog in the cell with a mattress without searching if she had matches. He believes that the licence to sell moonshine by a regional distiller has hurt the locals in the mountains to sell it on their own for profit. (maybe this is why there are still dry city and counties?) He hurts for all the people left in the area he grew up on living on hope after all the coal had been stripped and there is no jobs. He is a kind, educated man with a big heart. Maybe pushing 80 years old or many more. 

Since tomorrow will be nice, I will have to return the favor. We will walk down and visit Mr. Bill. I am certain he will be carving more walking sticks and ready to tell more stories. Whether his stories are from life imitating art or art imitating life, it does not matter. They play The Andy Griffith Show reruns daily on my antenna TV, but this the favored form of storytelling and most honest. There are stories to be told and need to be heard. The little things in life. 

Ho. Ho. No!

Santa arrived at the local mall today. One week after Halloween. They invited us with temptations of cookies, holiday writing stations, activities and photos we could waste money on. No. Ho. Ho.

No.Thank you, Santa. You should be busy with all your elves right now and not creating unnecessary drama in children. I am going to celebrate my favorite holiday first. I am going to continue with my laundry piles, cooking, grocery shopping and hoping for a day of rest and relaxation with friends and family on my favorite holiday.

I have no idea how Thanksgiving became my favorite holiday, but it is. Maybe it is the lack of snow in Tennessee that tipped it over the edge to me loving a leaf raking, windows open and cooking all day sort of day. I have worn flip flops on Thanksgiving Eve downtown twice now since moving here. This year may be different since my blood is getting cold.  It may be the invitation to sit still and provide for your family with an indulgent meal, if you are able. No gifts, no credit card bills, no frantic madness...nothing. Cooking is not madness to me. I cook every day. Maybe it is the excitement of turning on holiday lights and decorating a Christmas tree. Maybe.

I knew my Dad proposed to my Mom on Thanksgiving as there was always flowers and kisses, but I didn't hear the real story until tonight when I fact checked. My investigative reporting revealed  how he had the ring in his pocket at the Wagon Wheel the Saturday before that Thanksgiving Thursday. With undue pressure from his brothers, he waited.  I think you chose the right day, Dad. Owen and Aidan - take notes, from Grandpa. There is nothing to be more thankful for than your Grandpa and Grandma. Or your Mom or Dad. Your Aunts and Uncles or your future partner in life.

I think Thanksgiving is about the simplicity. About love without obligations. The family gathers or the friends-givings are priceless. Even if we sit again at a table five or a table of 30, we are going to link a chain of Thankfulness that will carry us on until the next year and years to come.

I just have a lot of weight on my shoulders to make it less lonely for us all for the next few months  Thank goodness for stickers and paint and play dough. And I hope that years from now the kids will not want to miss Mom's cooking and are able to return home. Because I would give anything for my mom's cooking again.

Gobble, Gobble. And be Thankful. No Ho, Ho, Ho, just yet.