FRIDAY THOUGHTS: THANKSGIVING---GETTING OLDER

Dad said, "I think I want a computer. My sister has one, and I think she's talked me into it." 

We were transferring the place mats from the kitchen table to to the dining room table. 

Dad told my daughter, "do whatever you want to do" when she'd asked how he wanted the table set, or in what room he would like everyone to eat. 

She decided on the dining room. 

We were trying not to displace papers and other things he had on the kitchen table, when he said he'd inadvertently tossed out the clipping from a magazine advertising "a computer for old people" (his words, not mine). 

"I don't know what I did with it, but I want one specifically designed for people my age." 

I said, "I think I know what you're talking about. Larger numbers, and letters, and screen, right? I saw that. AARP offers it." 

Dad said, "Yeah. I do believe it was in their magazine." 

Someone who will remain nameless (my daughter Lisa) said, "So, Mom, you mean you saw it in YOUR AARP magazine? Do you still have it?" 

Her timing made everyone, including me, laugh. 

Of course I knew what my Dad was talking about because I'd seen it. 

I'm not quite as enthused about it as he, and don't need it, (yet) but it occurred to me that we read the same magazine for older adults, even though he's celebrated approximately 33 more Thanksgiving days than I have.

I found myself studying him briefly yesterday. 

His beard is coming in gray. 

I don't know that I'd ever seen my Dad unshaven. 

His steps are carefully taken. 

His laugh is still hearty. 

He mocked how soft spoken I am, (I didn't think I was inaudible, though) and admonished me to speak up, but I noticed he heard some things just fine--because he answered. 

He's never complained of any hearing loss, but then, he's never been one to complain about his own health. 

Although he frequently mentions his "macular pucker", he can still make an amazing pot of collard greens. His string beans, seasoned with smoked turkey neck bones, weren't bad either.

I was still taking things out of the oven when he yelled for me to come into the dining room. 

It wouldn't have been as startling if I'd been farther away. 

We'd put mostly everything on the table, and he'd come to sit down. 

There was a plate in front of him, and he said he was ready to pray and eat "before the food gets cold". 

I stopped what I was doing to join everyone around the table. Food getting cold or not, Dad would never consider offering God a quickie prayer. 

He didn't talk about starving children in Africa or anything, but he did mention to God how he'd heard a woman say, on the news the other day, how difficult it is to keep food on the table in these tough economic times. 

I opened my eyes, and my little nephew Yusef's eyes were open, too. "The Goofy Movie" was on the TV in the sun room, and he was very anxious to get back to it. 

The expression on his face made me have to stifle a chuckle. He was looking up at everyone as if to say "Why are you all just standing here? What's going on? Let's eat!" 

I couldn't very well crack up in the middle of the prayer. 

In that moment, I didn't feel like someone who gets the AARP magazine in the mail, too. After the prayer, the last four brown and serve rolls to make it into the oven, were a little browner than the first eight, but butter came to the rescue.

Dinner was great, (although I did miss my big sister's gumbo, and instead of the real thing, we got Instagram photos of my niece's pound cakes). 

Everyone was responsible for a dish or two. 

We sat around the table talking about what ingredients went into what, Mommy's recipes, Lisa's awesome attempt at replicating the sweet potato soup from the Carnival cruise ship Freedom's restaurant, and how neither my little sister nor I like cheese, (but her macaroni and cheese casserole was amazing). There were comments about how my cornbread dressing looked like Mommy's. 

I'm glad it was also tasty and edible, too.

 

The Cornish hens my sister baked were wonderful, thank God, because the turkey, (courtesy of Popeye's) needed the customary two days to thaw, and it was decided there was no need to rush it, and ruin it, so it didn't make the trip from her house. 

It seemed odd not having turkey on Thanksgiving, but overwhelming gratitude that there's any food at all, and the fact that, on any given day, if you want turkey you can have it, made it a non issue. 

I made two batches of potato salad. 

There was the plain one for my Dad and daughter, that I don't understand, but my daughter laughed, "Only God can judge me" about her preference for potato salad that includes only potatoes, eggs, mayonnaise and mustard. 

It's a "judgment free zone". 

The other batch, in addition to the usual ingredients, had celery, dill and sweet pickle relish, green pepper, red onion, garlic--the works--to which, after tasting, my sister said she would add still more sweet relish.

Watching my little nephew was delightful. The difference in age between the males in the house was 81 years. When my nephew was ready to eat, he chose a seat next to me--closest to the root beer he had his eye on. He was happy when I poured some in a cup for him, and described it as "spicy". 

He was really enjoying the sweet potatoes, but the swinging of his little legs under the table may have been misconstrued as playing, and playing at the table has always been a no-no for as long as I can remember. 

Still, no matter how many times Daddy said, "Be still", Yusef would stop momentarily, only to start swinging again seconds later. When you're five years old, sitting in a big dining room chair, and there's two feet of space between your feet and the floor, there's nothing else to do with your little legs, I suppose.

When you're 52 or 85 you can be still--either because you want to, or because you don't have a choice.

Yesterday, it was just family. 

Only 6 of us, and it was nice, although I always miss my big sister whether it's a holiday or not. 

To be clear, not every holiday non-family drop-in is annoying. There are some people you are delighted to unexpectedly see, and then there are others who I am convinced, rise on holidays and say, "Hmmm. What atmosphere can I cloud today by my intrusiveness, greed, and too-familiar spirit?" 

Fortunately there were no annoying drop-ins this year, for which I was extremely grateful. 

It's always a relief not to have to use the "Don't you know it's Thanksgiving? We are not related! Don't you have a family?" speech you've rehearsed in your head, but would probably never deliver because you were raised to be polite, (and, of course, you never want to be the one who wrecks Thanksgiving for actually saying what everyone else is thinking but afraid to say--"What do you want? Why are you here? GO HOME!") 

I wonder if, as I age, I'll acquire that wonderfully naughty penchant for saying whatever one wants to say, not care at all, and blame it on being old?

As we sat around the dining room table, after the meal, Daddy told us how he and his sisters used to play a game at the dinner table. Whoever finished their meal first, would help the others finish their meal. It wasn't a game as much as a statement of the poverty they once experienced. 

Then he told us about the other game, "What's Going On In Your Life". 

It was a tricky, talking game, to see who would get tired of talking, and decide that even washing dishes was a better thing to do. 

"You mind who does the cooking," he said, "but you don't care who washes the dishes." 

Fortunately, there were no overwhelming piles of dishes, pots and pans to wash like there used to be when we were kids; no mountains of trash to take out; and no cleaning out the refrigerator to make room for Tupperware. 

Yesterday, there was just a coordinated effort to clean up, and divvy up the leftovers. ("Here. Take some more. We can't eat all of that.")

 

We sat around the kitchen table, laughing and talking, and watched "The Blind Side" and checked periodically on the Redskins' progress. (Go Skins!). Had my Mother been alive, or my big sister been in town, the game would definitely have been a greater priority.

There was ice cream, but no one had any room for anything else. (God, I must be getting older. I don't ever remember turning down ice cream.)

 

It seemed like night came so quickly, and another Thanksgiving Day was over, and just like every year since 2003, it seems so odd; so awkward, and downright strange and unfair not to have Mommy there.
With leftovers in tow, we headed back to DC. 

My day was done, while my daughter's continued. Nope. I can't hang like I used to.

This morning, I read on Facebook that my big sister and niece have already been "Black Friday" shopping at several stores, and are back at their respective homes. I, on the other hand am typing from the comfort of my bed. I'm not tired, just resting. 

I'm noticing that I need rest more these days. 

Getting older has it's benefits, and is very interesting. Little, weird aches and pains, less energy, a lot more patience, seemingly faster moving days, more confidence and assertiveness, and less tolerance for foolishness of any kind seem to top the list.  

I did manage to drag myself to the bathroom, then the kitchen. 

I knew there were Thanksgiving leftovers in the refrigerator, and even considered what kind of early meal potato salad would make, when I made another discovery.
I don't know where the really good muffins came from, (probably courtesy of my daughter's continued celebrating after she dropped me off at home) but they're officially breakfast. 

Who feels like cooking anything? I sure don't.

For the wonder that is the microwave, I am thankful.