Yesterday was Thanksgiving.
The day started out okay. Normal stuff for me - up at 5:30, coffee in the bedroom as I start the day slowly, morning toast.
By 8am I had the turkey all dressed up and in the oven.
By 8:30am I realized I was in the middle of a bona fide anxiety attack.
No explanation for that while it was happening, it just came up out of nowhere. It was just going to be the two of us so it wasn't like I was panicking about the details that come with having company. I've cooked turkeys and Thanksgiving meals dozens of time so it wasn't that either. Weird. Later in the day I would understand why this happened.
No explanation for that while it was happening, it just came up out of nowhere. It was just going to be the two of us so it wasn't like I was panicking about the details that come with having company. I've cooked turkeys and Thanksgiving meals dozens of time so it wasn't that either. Weird. Later in the day I would understand why this happened.
Eventually the anxiety attack passed and the rest of the morning was spent doing just a bit more meal prep (I'd cooked most of everything the day before) and playing around with artwork. At some point I mentioned to JP that I didn't want either of us to dwell on not having family or friends to share the day with as we often tend to lament about on special days. Sort of like: "This food is great, the house looks beautiful. Too bad we don't have people to share it with." That's the sort of thing that always gets said on every birthday, holiday, Arbor Day, Groundhog Day, etc.
But the truth is, even if one of us isn't saying it, we are both definitely thinking it.
For a little bit I had the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade on the television which brought back a flood of memories for me: being a little kid and going to the parade with my father, freezing to death until he bought me hot pretzels from the street cart man and a steamy hot chocolate with tons of whipped cream on top; taking Sherb to the parade when she was little, bundling her up in twelve layers of clothing.
Moving on from the parade memories to remembering my mother getting mad if you didn't want to eat a particular Thanksgiving food that she thought you should be eating (I used to not like sweet potatoes which bothered her as if it were something personal) and also her annual attempt at making stuffing which everyone referred to as "wet bread". Thinking about the corny joke that we still laugh about that my beloved and estranged nephew made on Thanksgiving about geting more turnips on his "next turn up" to get a second helping.
Moving on from the parade memories to remembering my mother getting mad if you didn't want to eat a particular Thanksgiving food that she thought you should be eating (I used to not like sweet potatoes which bothered her as if it were something personal) and also her annual attempt at making stuffing which everyone referred to as "wet bread". Thinking about the corny joke that we still laugh about that my beloved and estranged nephew made on Thanksgiving about geting more turnips on his "next turn up" to get a second helping.
You know, the bittersweet kind of memories.
