Untraditional Thanksgiving

The thing I enjoyed most about Thanksgiving was that each year was spent with a different group of people than the year before – not always.  For the most part our Thanksgiving dinners were intimate.  10 -12 people.  Nothing overwhelming like the 30+ number that my neighbor from across the street likes to have.  The more, the merrier – or so is her opinion.  I prefer less people.

          Sometimes we would enjoy the Thanksgiving holidays with various neighbors.  Sometimes extended family.  Sometimes just us.  Each one different.  Each one with positive memories.

          I recall one year spending it with a couple who had two children.  I think mom and dad had only three at the time.  The movie, The Jazz Singer (the version with Neal Diamond as Jess Robin), had just gone to the dollar theatre.  It was part of a double feature.  The other movie was Scrooge.  Our neighbor, Mary, LOVED the Jazz Singer and I still love the musical Scrooge. 

         So after our dinner we went to the theatre to see both movies.  I believe it was the only time I had ever gone to the movies on Thanksgiving Day.

          Mom’s neighbor from across the street LOVES Thanksgiving.  Her idea of a perfect Thanksgiving is having dinner with OODLES of people.  30, 50 – though not always an overwhelming amount, I think it is the norm.  We’ve probably had dinner with their family at least five times during my life time. And it hasn’t always been with all of the same people.

          I remember having Thanksgiving dinner with my dad’s family one time.  We had gone to my aunt’s apartment.  We usually didn’t spend Thanksgiving as all of us.  My dad’s brother spent the holidays with my aunt’s family.  But there was that at least that one time.  It was a long time before Corey or Kayla.

          After Patrick got married, they would often alternate holidays – spending every other Thanksgiving with her family and then Christmas with ours and vise-versa.  One year when they’d gone out of town, we asked my dad’s sister and her family to come spend Thanksgiving with us.  The year my dad passed away, we drove out of state with Patrick and Sunny to spend the holidays with her family.

          The thing I love the most about Thanksgiving is we get to spend it with a new group of people pretty much every year.  It may seem nontraditional to do it that way.  But it’s truly what I enjoy most about Thanksgiving.

          This year we had Thanksgiving dinner (lunch) the Saturday prior to Thanksgiving.  We held it at the Church building that Patrick and Sunny attend.  Sunny had decorated the table so nicely.  18 chairs had been set up and each family contributed to the meal. Kayla made her first sweet potato pie ever.  Corey really missed out with that one.

 Each of us had also brought games to play.  My family ended up playing only one.  My mom was becoming more and more restless and Roland and I took her and Jenna to the movies.  It was nice to hear my mom enjoying the movie.  I thought she’d nod off but she didn’t. 

We missed Corey this year, but I am grateful that he has the opportunity to spend the holidays with his honey (for a change).  I am grateful for our non-traditional Thanksgivings.  And I am grateful for my families and for Sunny who seems to hold us all together.

The Faith of a Child

          It was 5:30 when we received a frantic knock on the door.  Jenna dismissed herself thinking it was the next door neighbor who had already dismissed himself three times when he did not get his way.  I had thought the same thing – but at the same time it was a more aggressive knock – one of panic not childish play.

          Jorge’s mother had a worried look in her eyes, “Is Jorge here?” she asked hopefully.

          “No, I’m sorry.  I haven’t seen him.  Did he come home from school?”

          “No.”

          Jorge and Jenna don’t even go to the same school.  I had no clue how to help her.  Her cell phone drowned out my question, “How can I help?”

          I worried along with Jorge’s mom.  And Jenna worried with me. 

          “What can we do?” she asked.

          “We can pray.”

          I said the prayer and pondered what to do – I didn’t even know their last name.  Before involving anyone else, I thought it would be better if I had more information to share.

I do know where they live.  So Jenna and I walked over to their house.  Jorge’s mother opened the door – Relieved and Happy.  She’d found Jorge!  I don’t know where he’d been.  The cell phone went off again and she jabbered into it in her native tongue.  Jenna and I excused ourselves. 

          As Jorge’s mother closed the door, Jenna said, “Well, I guess our prayer worked.”

Get into the Groove Already . . . you Stubborn Lid

          Earlier in summer this year, I had gone with my ward on a canning assignment and decided that once school had started that I would put in 3-9 hours of volunteer work at the cannery once each month.  Thus far I haven’t made it to five hours.  But I am proud to say that I have been at least once a month.

          The only shift I can do currently is the 11-2 and I can only go on a Monday or a Wednesday as I am with mom on Tuesday and Thursday and Friday is normally Jenna’s short day and gets out of school just after one.

          I had actually gone to the cannery last week, but the machine had broken down or something.  When I arrived it appeared they already had thirty volunteers waiting to fulfill assignment.

          In the past I have noticed too many people can present just as many problems as not enough.  I opted to return home – which actually turned out to be a blessing on my end.  I’d forgotten about fall break, and Jenna walked in the house at 1:30.  I would have felt bad if she had returned to an empty house with no clue about where I might be.

          In summer, when I was with my ward, I noticed three that had been assigned to fastening lids on jars.  Oh, I was so relieved not to have put on that job.  Ironically, that has been the position I have been given every time I’ve gone (with two exceptions) and it’s really not as bad as I had made it out to be – except for today.

         

          I was having so much trouble getting the lid to fasten.  But it actually wasn’t just me – we all had problems with them.  At first it just seemed to be Eve and I who were struggling.  There didn’t seem to be as much struggle for Jean and Kris – who were grabbing lids from another box.

          I decided that it was the lids.  They must have been nicked or flawed or something.  Steve – who is an actual employee and not just a volunteer – picked up a couple of lids to redo a couple of jars that had been missed (and I take full responsibility)

          Ideally there are supposed to be three people for the jar lids.  The first is to fasten jars number 3 and 6, the second 2 and 5 and the last one should be able to do 1 and 4.  But sometimes we have four.  And Jean would usually do two jars along with Eve and Kris leaving me with very little to do (Jean would sometimes let a jar slide on purpose so that I would be able to have the opportunity) until Penny came in and took Jean’s place (Jean had been there since 9:30) and appeared to be having more trouble twisting the lids than I was.

          Sometimes the lid would escape from her.  A few had become flying saucers.  At least a couple soared over my knee before crash landing into the floor. Some remained on the conveyor belt and took a ride along with the jars that were full of applesauce.

          There was one time I was doing Salsa with a team of Polynesian background.  I don’t know if they were holding a contest among themselves or if they each thought it was their duty to personally make the day’s quota.  Pekelo would do bottles 2, 4, 5 and 6.  And Kalani would do bottles 1 and 3.  I was lucky if I was able to do one in 18 jars – seriously.

          Today we did applesauce and the last time I volunteered, it was honey.  Now that was cool watching the forklifts bring in the one and a half tons of honey and then see it get sucked out from a tube and enter the machine.  Fascinating.

Doogie Howser in Hunter Orange

DoogieHowser ran from September of 1989 to March of 1993.  I have actually never seen an episode.  I remembered seeing previews for it.  But the entire concept of this teenage doctor was just so bizarre – I couldn’t imagine spending time watching it.  I’m quite surprised it was actually on for four seasons.

          I have been a consumer in several stores throughout my life.  The older I get, the younger the clerks become.  Too often I will encounter those who seem clueless, who seem to have no sense of direction with customer relations, who look at me as though I’ve sprouted horns or am talking in a foreign tongue.  I refer to those kids as “fetuses”

          There have been a few, however, that just “look” younger than they are, but speak with such maturity and sophistication that they sound much older than they look. (I think Neil Patrick Harris looked way younger than fourteen when the show started) It is the male population of these wise that I have nicknamed “Doogie Howser”.

          There is a handful of Doogie Howsers in my ward.  I guess they seem so much younger to me because the average age in the ward is above 70 – and those that I dub as Doogie Howsers are all in their 20’s – though this one in particular appears to be younger than any of my boys but as we’ve lived in the ward for three years – and he has lived here with his wife in all that time, I know that he’s older than my youngest two and probably my eldest.

          Wade’s worn his hunter orange cardigan to Church a couple of times.  One can’t help but notice as it is truly bright.  The last time he had worn it while blessing the sacrament I was reminded of a situation that Corey related to me – he was told that he would not be able to participate in blessing the sacrament as he was wearing a purple shirt.  Really?

          I understand steering away from casual wear – out of respect to our Creator – at the same time we don’t KNOW the reasons that people wear (or don’t wear) what they do.  Corey happens to like the color purple – and he looked nice in his non-traditional Sunday suit.  He wanted his own identity – his individual worth.  But nobody had asked if that was the case . . .

          Maybe all his white shirts had been damaged in the washing machine when it broke down.  Maybe the purple shirt was the only one that fit.  We don’t know.  Wade may be wearing his orange cardigan for whoever bought it.  It’s definitely an attention getter, and he teaches Jack – our only young men aged youth.  Maybe Jack listens better when he has that sweater glaring at him.  Or maybe he can’t find his suit jacket and the cardigan is warm.

          In my last ward there was a persnickety Pharisee who harped on the dress code almost every week.  I think she was offended that there had been a few show up in jeans or more casual wear and wouldn’t even make an effort to dress another way.  Wouldn’t it be more important to Jesus to have his children show up than stay away due to a strict dress code?

          I’m not bothered by it – but I know some people are.  Another example is a counselor to the bishop came dressed in jeans.  It’s all he had.  His wife had passed away that week and no one had picked his suit up at the cleaners.  He was conducting.  With emotion, he announced his own wife’s upcoming funeral.

          I don’t normally wear panty hose – even to the temple.  My legs chafe.  I’m certain that God understands.  He is, after all, the one that gave me my overly sensitive skin.

          I know some people get lazy.  Some become wrapped up in their own thoughts that they forget why others are dressed up. But I know the Savior would still welcome them with a smile.  He would even allow them to bless and pass the sacrament knowing their worth and worthiness lies on the inside and not outward appearance.

          I am grateful for those who are willing to embrace others just because they are there. For those who don’t pass judgment.  For those who accept.

Liberty Mutual NEEDS to STOP Calling My Mom

          Mom has been tested for Alzheimer’s at least twice.  We’ve been told that she doesn’t have it. But she does have some form of dementia.  A distorted memory loss.  Some days she’s been there, others she has not.  For the most part it seems she’s been elsewhere – first on exotic vacations and then sharing her childhood and teenage years in San Francisco.   She just didn’t seem to be anywhere today. 

          She was just finishing the dishes when she let me inside.  I greeted her and asked if she had taken her blood.  She had to process the information as she always does when I ask the question.  She said she hadn’t.  I then asked her if she’d eaten breakfast.  She said she had.  And so I told her that we’d have to wait in order to get a proper reading.  She looked at me with childish eyes and confessed that she had forgotten how. 

          She said that she needed to go to the store.  She said that she wanted to purchase some cough drops – a large bag of them.  I took her to Sam’s Club as they sell items in bulk and would have more cough drops offered in their packaging than the regular stores.

          The mail usually doesn’t come until I’m just about to leave – or when I’m pulling out of the driveway.  But today it was early.  Very early.  I guess because of having had off Veteran’s Day yesterday?  What a boatload of mail, too.

          Mom dismissed herself to go to the bathroom, and I hurriedly fingered through the mail and pulled out mail from various charities and Capitol One and set them aside to go through later to make certain it really was all junk.  It was. 

          Corey received five pieces of mail.  I’m certain that two of those could have been trashed as well.  But mom insisted he needed it all and we ended up going to the post office as she’d put it all in a large manila envelope.  Note to self:  make up labels to give to mom so that she can just forward Corey’s mail without having to pay for it.  Even after I show her, she could still forget why she has all these labels with Corey’s name and address.

          We drove passed the school that my sibs and I had all attended.  Mom says, “There is the school that I went to . . . that’s probably the same one that you went to.”

          “Yes.  I went to that school.”  She didn’t.  Not as a student anyway.  It wasn’t even built until 35 years after she was born.

         We were going through Taboo cards trying to get each other to guess the words on our cards.  I explained how to play it a few times. Each time she would answer the phone  I would have to re-explain.  

         One of the calls that she received was from Liberty Mutual.  According to her, they call on a weekly basis.  It is never a human being.  It is always a machine asking to press this number or that number.  Why doesn't she just hang up on them?  What is Liberty Mutual thinking to have a machine call their clients?  How many of those clients are capable of pushing the correct numbered button? 

         Mom showed me her supply that came from Liberty Mutual.  She's set for a while.  They don't need to call every day or every week or every month.  She's good.  Seriously.  She isn't in the right frame of mind or patience to be pushing buttons.

          We finished the puzzle book that she and Kayla had started.  And so we left the house again to purchase some puzzle book replacements. They seem to be helping.

          We had started the third puzzle when I excused myself to return home.  She seemed disappointed.  But expressed gratitude for having had come. I needed that.

          I want my mom back.

That Jacket’s been around for quite some time

          Roland tried his hand at working for U-Haul probably about twelve years ago or so.  He ordered his U-Haul coat and worked for two weeks.  The job didn’t challenge him in any way and he just didn’t want to stay mainly because he felt bored.  He saw no advancement.  But he had paid for his coat, and so he kept it.

          It’s been a great coat.  I think all of us have worn it at one time or another.  It’s got the feel of a jacket, but is warm like a coat.

          But after many years, Roland decided to invest in a more stylish coat.  He got it on sale one year between four and six in the morning on a black Friday.  And it is a nice coat.  Warmer than his U-Haul.  It’s a heavy hyde-skin looking coat. I call it his Indian coat or trapper coat.  He still wears his UHaul for the most part as he  can’t seem to move in the other as freely.  And so he keeps them both.

         Currently the coat resides in Biff's closet.  I don't know why.  I haven't ever seen him wear it since before we moved.  Maybe he doesn't know it's in his closet. I bet Roland doesn't know.

Old Newspaper Clippings and Other Saved Items

          Mom kept boxes filled with treasures from each of her children.  Treasures.  That’s really a matter of opinion.  I find it amazing that the pages of my baby book are still intact and of great quality paper compared to many I have filled on my own.  But I still scanned the pages – saving a bit for Jenna but still discarding a lot.

School work done on ditto paper.  Remember those?  Before Xerox and other photo copiers.  Purple carbon paper and ink

  

All daily assignments and homework in purple outline – never black

I kept some of my drawings out for Jenna to look at.  The majority I’ve thrown away.  And I’m proud to say that she has also. 

I had made a calendar for my Uncle and his family who were living in Denver at the time.  I don’t believe my mom ever mailed it as it was in my box – but as I pulled it apart, I completely understand why my mom would not have wanted to bother.

How pathetic.

I also found a piece of newspaper dated June 1969.  I went through the page three times, but could not find any significance or reasoning to why the page had been saved.

Lots of advertisement and laughable styles and prices in today’s eye:

      

I do remember birth announcements and weddings – but engagements?  That’s bizarre.  Perhaps mom knew one of these women?  She may have then – but I’m certain she has no clue at present.

I have noticed that my scanner has made the newspaper look more aged than the actual paper.

I was serving in Roanoke during the flood of November 1985.  It’s still quite surreal to me that I was there and saw the damage but not the flood itself as my comp and I were ordered to stay put in our apartment in a house upon a hill

A lot of things can be found on the Internet now.  I don’t have to save the map of Lake Ridge Mall as it is on the Internet.  I don’t have to save brochures that tell me about old and new Cape Henry.  They can be found online.

Not all my faded pictures of Mabry Mill and Philpot can be found – as my comps and I were in several of them.  But they are so distorted – I don’t think they are worth the repair. But the scenery itself can be found online – though I did have to scan this one.  I took it because it made me laugh – and now it can make others laugh as well

I’ve actually gone through everything that I had left with mom three years ago.  But there is more in the shed.  A lot more.  I think it grew. It’s probably growing right now. It’s overflowing – like a vine.  I’m almost afraid to tackle.

I must have saved every thought, every hand out in Relief Society and Young Women’s.  I saved ticket stubs and wedding napkins and announcements – photos of people I no longer remember.

One of the hardest memories to look at was a wedding announcement of a friend close to me like a brother and his wife.  So happy.  So young.  So in love.  That’s how it reads in the photo anyway.

The caption under the photo reads “Today, Tomorrow and Always” - always what? Living a hell maybe, because the love died a long time ago from what I understand.  Today, Tomorrow and Always?  That is what I thought of all my memorabilia.  Fortunately “always” will be a myth in the scrap saving department for me.

So I have divorced much of my memorabilia.  Not quite as upsetting as the many marriages that have fallen apart. It is their children who suffer the most, I think.  Although in this case it’s been an equally great hardship on them all.  Perhaps the youngest and then my friend and his wife who may never get better – one cannot be cured if always in denial.

I’ve thrown away tons of cards.  Some I kept for the pictures.  Some because they don’t seem to make those old-fashion kind of cards anymore.  But I just don’t have the room.  No sense in scanning those.  Most of the pictures that I’ve shared have been “borrowed” from the Internet – and I’m certain I will continue to borrow more.  I don’t need to scan pictures that I can find on the Internet.  I want the personal ones – not the generic card pictures that are nice – but really. I don’t need to hang onto them.  I really don’t.

I’m grateful that I am able to let go and that modern technology has allowed me to compact those things that I would like to save.  Thank you to all of those who have assisted with the many programs and drives available to all of us.