Author: Thomas Walters

That time of year is upon us once again.  Thanksgiving brings families together, and it’s a time to reminisce about those we have had, those that are the future, and the people that have gone before us. This year, we’re gathering at our house – Susan’s sister and husband, our nephew and his family, and of course, Betsy. The last time we hosted, I suggested as something interesting a “game bird medley” – the supermarkets now sell duck and goose.  I thought it would be a change, but Herself and my sister-in-law shot that down faster than a Chinese spy balloon. I had a long conversation with my sister the other night, and we talked about family remembrances and happy times. All of us have tales of Thanksgivings past that solicit smiles and warm memories. Some I’ve included in previous posts, but I think they bear repeating now. These are some of mine.  Whether you’ve seen them before or they’re new, enjoy!

This blog is a follow-up to my highly successful ones on obituaries, which featured the best and worst things to include in them.  If I live long enough, I’ll republish them or include them in my humorous memoirs.  On occasion, I’d tell my students to watch what they said out loud, because it was all fair game for my memoirs.  Several gave me a couple of chapters worth.  But I digress.

I wrote a few years back that there comes a time, for all of us, when gravity is no longer our friend.  Our fingers, arms, and legs don’t really work in concert the way they did when we were in our thirties and forties.  Ok, maybe even our fifties and sixties. I know what the scientists will say – that we need gravity so that things don’t just drift about like in a space capsule.  Ok, understood.  Force of gravity however, isn’t the only lead indicator that we’re not quite as functional as we used to be. Our lifestyles too have dramatically changed – some elements for the better, some perhaps not.  I don’t believe for a minute that 70 is the new 50, except for Joe Biden and Jane Fonda.  Eyes, teeth, and joints aren’t buying it either.  But all of those little things keep announcing to us, like a bullhorn, that time is marching on. So, you know you’re getting older when . . . . .

Well, we’re coming up on that time of year again.  Do I buy pumpkins for outside or not?  By Halloween, the chipmunks and squirrels have eaten holes in them, making us look more or less like that derelict property in the neighborhood that everyone avoids.  If I put out attractive swags of Indian corn, the birds will have stripped them clean in a matter of days. And while I got out my mighty leaf blower to tidy up a day or two ago, they’ve all blown back in again.  My gardens are largely compost too at this stage.  It’s that in-between season where the fall colors have faded, the leaves have fallen, the days are cooler, and Herself limits my turning on the heat unless we have a really crisp morning.  

Since the beginning of time, or as far back as we can surmise, humans have felt a need to eat.  Some sparingly, others like King Henry VIII in glutenous binges until you’re so stuffed you can barely walk.  Unlike lesser animal forms, that would eat pretty much whatever was at paw or claw until it ran out, and then they moved on, we human beings, an imaginative sort, learned fairly early on to either grow or hunt our own.  

The changing of seasons usually prompts me to write.  Well, truthfully, looking out the window prompts me to write.  But Fall seems to signal the closing of another year.  Not quite closing – we’ll save that until November, when the area really looks bleak – dark and damp, trees standing naked with the leaves gone.  I’ve often thought that trees in November look particularly forlorn, almost embarrassed to be seen until the snows come and dresses them up a bit. 

I should point out that I try not to go grocery shopping on a Monday morning, unless there is something essential, we need.  Like dinner for tonight, or cleaning supplies of which we’re out.  There are three, yes, three supermarkets near us.  One has better prices and weekly sales that the other two don’t.  Technically, the sales go into effect on Sunday, but the store is clogged with younger shoppers and families whisking about the aisles, and there are a multitude of small children.  So, the senior population, at least everyone not hitting the dollar store, waits until Monday morning.