Me? Alone on America’s first holiday? Perish the thought!
That’s how I used to feel. For most of my life, I’ve been surrounded by family and friends on Thanksgiving Day. I’m used to asking someone “Please pass the giblet gravy” or “Got any more of that pecan pie?” before flopping out on the couch and slipping into a turkey-and-dressing-induced coma. In fact, I can count, on the fingers of one hand, the times I have had to spend Thanksgiving, or Christmas by myself.
I’ve spent holidays with parents, spouses, a few sweethearts, and sons. When I asked him what he was doing for Thanksgiving, one son told me that he and his fam would be with the “outlaws” and, the other son, a resident of Sweden, sees November 28 as a workday, I realized Thanksgiving would be only as special as I made it. I wasn’t looking forward to being alone. In fact, I waited for my eyes to tear up and for my lip to quiver until I remembered what a hoot my three “besties”, “Me, myself, and I”, are to hang out with.
“Hey, girl,” they reminded me, “we can sleep late, watch the Macy’s parade and bowl games in our p.j.’s and bunny slippers, and do Thanksgiving our way. After all,” they added with a wink, “turkey-and-dressing is so cliche.”
Yes, I’m long overdue for some “me” time. Since August, I’ve suffered emotional whiplash, survived an almost-heart attack, and struggled with an eighteen-hour course load that gives Hell a whole new meaning. Suddenly, spending tomorrow alone — catching up on my sleep and my grading, gearing up for finals, and — just maybe — working on my WIP, was a Godsend.
This afternoon, I straggled home from Wal-Mart after shopping for my feast: marinated and broiled rib-eye, steamed corn-on-the-cob, lightly-tossed spinach-and-Campari tomato salad, crusty sourdough bread oozing with butter, a couple glasses of Malbec, and pints of Haagen Dasz coffee, Swiss Almond Vanilla, and chocolate ice-cream. A lemon-pepper rotisserie chicken, some roasted-red-pepper hummus, and Mediterranean herb pita chips hurled themselves into my cart before check-out.
And that is the way I do Thanksgiving. What is yours?