Count blessings, subtract spiders, and dust that shelf this instant—with thanksgiving
By Burton W. Cole
Can a widower in his mid-60s be thankful? At first, I was going to say this week will be tough. Then I remembered when I was a young father with a full complement of spouse, kids, dog and impending Thanksgiving Day guests.
So yes, definitely I can be thankful that this year, all I need to do is bake a green bean casserole (so a half hour or work, tops) and go to the extended family gathering at the township fire hall.
The convenience of Thanksgiving dinner at a fire station can’t be overstated. If Aunt Gertrude burns her sweet potato soufflé again, the fire truck’s parked in the next bay. Uncoil the hose and spray.
Same thing if anyone starts talking politics, same thing: Uncoil hose and spray.
It wasn’t like that 30 or 40 years ago when my little family hosted gatherings. The day of fun and relaxation was preceded by a week of an extremely stressful family activity called “Clean That Up Right Now Can't You See It's a Mess!” while my then wife — who organized those awful games — frantically plowed through cookbooks for “Where is That Stupid Recipe This isn't Going to be Enough Food!”
If husband, kid or sometimes dog paused long enough to contemplate a blessing, the game organizer/referee/scorekeeper swiftly and sternly reminded the offender “This is No Time to Sit Down Can't You See All That Still Needs Done!”
My daughter was a teenager at the time. If your home has ever been infested by teenagers, you know the problem: invisibility.
The teen disappeared whenever the word “clean” was used in a sentence.
Secondly, her junk also was invisible. Even I, a known male (and you know we can’t see messes), could spot her combs, brushes, hair spray, ponytail holders, tissues, books and other things stacked on the couch, chairs or table.
When the teen finally emerged from her hidey-hole, she picked up a rubber band from a bookshelf, set it on the stairs to be taken to her room “on the next trip up” (with all the other “next trip up” piles that never made it up) and declare all surfaces cleaned.
In much the same way, I could never locate the alleged “dust” my wife harped about. I looked, swished a rag, sneezed, but never saw. It’s a Y chromosome thing.
Cobwebs are nearly as bad. It was my responsibility to not only remove any that appeared, but to track down the offending spider who dared scamper his eight little legs inside our house dis-invite him.
My daughter — yes, the one who couldn’t see full baskets of laundry that needed put away — could spot a spider at 150 yards. And my wife would say things like, “That cobweb has been behind the end table for a week. When exactly are you getting it?”
By the time Thanksgiving rolled around, my wife had uttered — sometimes with great animation — many “blessings” upon my daughter and me. And a few for the dog.
She’d apologize to our guests that meal was ruined because she constantly had to “coach” teen and husband.
Of course, the food was delicious and we gobbled down seconds, thirds and fourths. After all, if we left the table, there was no place to sit on the couch and everything was dusty.
We gave thanks when Thanksgiving ended. It was time to let the “dust” settle until Christmas week.
P.S. I am thankful for you. Have a blessed, stress-free and spider-free week.
Share why you are thankful with Burt at burton.w.cole@gmail.com or the Burton W. Cole page on Facebook or at www.burtonwcole.com.