give thanks · prayer · short story · Thanksgiving · writing

Circle Round

Turkey sat at the head of the beautifully-decorated table. He paused for a moment and smiled at everyone seated with him.

Then he reached out and joined hands with the Stuffing who in turn picked up Deviled Eggs hand who then clasped hands with Mashed Potatoes (whose new little one Gravy slept pressed against her chest).

Since Mashed Potatoes had her other hand full, her wife Green Bean Casserole picked up hands with Dinner Roll who reached out and picked up Weird Jello Salad’s hand who smiled and joined hands with her new husband, Relish Tray, who then picked up Old Man Pumpkin Pie’s hand who then gave a kiss to his wife of 50 years, Cool Whip, as he took her sweet soft wrinkled hand.

Grandma Cool Whip then closed the circle as she joined hands with Turkey.

They said their prayer to Mother Earth, thanking her for the bountiful blessings in their lives including this day that they were sharing together.

Then they looked at the loaded table which held massive amounts of sushi, Dominos pizza, ice cream, cotton candy and doughnuts.

And they ate.

Like pigs.

Til their stomachs were stretched and uncomfortable and they needed Turkey to go out to Walgreens to get some Tums.

The End.

pain · pelvic floor dysfunction · recovery · thankful · Thanksgiving · TMS

thoughtful & thankful

I’m getting a slow start to my day today. I love Thursdays because they’re my laziest day of the week. We had our first wintry mix precipitation fall early this morning and we lost power for a bit. I’ve been puttering around, reading my book by flashlight. I also put together a grocery list since today is grocery day. Got a hold of my son and found out he is joining us for dinner the night before Thanksgiving, so that’s a nice little surprise.

Power came back on after a few calm and quiet hours.

You know, normal every-day life stuff. Nothing crazy.

But you know what I haven’t been able to stop thinking about this week?

How sick I was this time last year.

Truth is I was a mess. This was before I knew…or before I could 100% verify…what was causing my pain that I was living with every single day.

As I walked our dog yesterday, I recalled the awful nagging pain in my pelvis. It was always there, sometimes horrible, sometimes not, sometimes it would go away for a short time. I’d wake up most days feeling okay, but scared, because I knew the pain would eventually come and it always did. If anything remotely stressful happened, my pain flared. It was, at times, excruciating.

I got through last Thanksgiving (and most of late last year) thanks to anxiety and pain medications. I was walking through a labyrinth of hell, wondering why this had happened to me, and trying to find quality caring doctors who believed what I was telling them or had any sympathy for me at all.

I felt lost and like hardly anyone cared about me.

And I hurt basically all of the time.

It was the most frightening time of my life.

I didn’t know if I’d ever feel right again and I wondered if I would make it through okay.

That’s a scary-ass thing to have to ponder, in case you didn’t know.

I was able to put on a brave face and get through the holidays with my family, even though they all knew I was ill and I wasn’t able to do everything I wanted. They were very sweet and understanding. But it all made me incredibly sad.

I remember.

I don’t think I will ever forget.

My illness has been one of my life’s biggest and most important teachers.

I’d like to say I am thankful for my pain, but truly, I wish I would have never had to go through all of that just to learn the lessons I did. Perhaps a more pain-free way to learn would have been nice. But, really, I guess a real kick in the ass is one way to get to figuring shit out, you know?

Speaking of my ass, I’m so thankful I can sit here on it, pain-free, and write this blog post.

I’m thankful I can get up, go out the door and walk my dog all over the place and not feel the nagging burning pressure pain with every step.

I’m thankful I can grocery shop and manage to stand in line waiting for my turn to check out without feeling like my bottom is going to fall out onto the floor, basically wanting to choke the other shoppers and cashiers for living normal lives while I’m dying just trying to buy freaking food.

I’m thankful I can stay up past 6:00 pm with my husband and watch tv and eat dinner with him instead of being in bed for an hour already, sad, unable to get up and enjoy his excellent company.

I’m glad I’m able to be among the general population and even if someone pisses me off, my pelvis won’t spasm and bring me to my knees.

I’m thankful I no longer have to take pain medication just so I can feel normal for a little while.

I’m thankful that I no longer need anxiety medication and that I naturally don’t shake from fear all day long anymore.

I’m thankful for those who remained my people when I was not my normal happy-go-lucky self. I know I was hard to listen to then, but they stuck around.

I’m thankful for my kids–human and fur–who waited and were sweet to me while I fought to come back.

I’m thankful for my friend who took care of me mentally and spiritually and physically. Great massage therapist, great listener, great sharer of guacamole.

I’m thankful for my husband who saw the very worst of me last year but never left me alone and helped me every single second of every single day til I was back. And still. And apparently, after all of that, he always will.

And lastly, I’m thankful for my persistence and my bravery and my intuition and

my self-orchestrated recovery.

Next Thursday, I’ll sit for a spell on a restaurant chair and eat Thanksgiving dinner with people I love and there will be no pain.

Just happiness. And lots of food.

Last year, fear had a hold on me. This year, I know how to wrestle the fear and keep it pinned to the ground.




bad kid · kindergarten · Thanksgiving

Kindergarten Rebel

All right. So good morning, everyone. Happy Monday and all that happy horse shit.
I want to ask you all–Is anyone else mildly baffled by the fact that freaking Thanksgiving is next week? Honestly, weren’t we all just lounging out in the summer sun, enjoying long days and cold frosty brews and balmy starlit nights?

That time passage crap gets really apparent and sort of annoying the older I get.

In honor of the upcoming celebration of stealing this land from the indigenous people, I’d like to share my favorite Thanksgiving story with you.

First, let me share a picture I took not 10 minutes ago. I have a cat I adore very much. She’s the pretty girl pictured grooming in the sun here on my blog.

Look at this.

Sitting on my laptop.

Mid-giant yawn!

What a little booger. I love her so.


Lucky for us, she has moved on to some nook somewhere else to nap for the next 8 hours.

Okay, back to my Thanksgiving story.

Back in 1972, I was a little tomboy hellion with a face full of freckles and an unfortunate pixie haircut given to me by a neighborhood friend. I was super rough-and-tumble, living the life, never having too many things go wrong in my tiny suburban experience. That is until September rolled around and my world was turned upside down when I had to stop my free-wheeling lifestyle and go off to freaking kindergarten. I was not pleased by this mandatory infringement on my personal liberties. My little sister got to stay home with our mom. I was jealous and pissed and, believe me, I let my family and my new teacher know it. Sure, it was only for a couple of hours every weekday morning, but I still hated it.

So, there I was, a little girl putting in my time in the big gymnasium, sitting at the “diamond table”.

I got spanked in kindergarten a couple of times by both my teacher and the school principal. So you see–I was what they might have considered a “pain in the ass”.

Thanksgiving time rolled around. By then, I was kinda-sorta trying to conform. We were going to have a big “feast” with the other morning kindergarten class on the other side of the gymnasium. We all had to pick if we wanted to be a pilgrim or an Indian.

Fun fact about me—ever since birth, I’ve been a HUGE American Indian fan. I LOVED them. I wanted so badly to be one, but I’m not. Still, I loved (love) their cultures. I took books about them out of the local library as often as I could. I used to set up all of my Indian “artifacts” in my bedroom and invite my mom to come in and look around like it was a museum. I remember riding in the front of a shopping cart once begging my mom for some red plaid trousers for sale because I had seen a photo of Geronimo wearing some just like them. (Mom bought them. They were cool as fuck.)

You get the picture.

So imagine my surprise when I opted to be a pilgrim woman for our kindergarten feast. I clearly recall trying to think outside the box and opening myself up to new ideas and opportunities. My skinny blonde Mary Tyler Moore flipped-hairdo black horn-rimmed glasses teacher gave me a black construction paper hat with a shiny white paper trim. I was like–this hat is bleak and weird, dammit, I wish I would have gone for the feather in the headband like my heart really desired, but there I was–ready to belly up to the table adorned with food. All I remember from the menu lineup that day was popcorn and whole red apples.

I got a paper plate and lined up.

I don’t know if I was irritated by being a pilgrim woman, or if I was just trying to be cool or what, but I remember a room mother piling popcorn on my plate which I decided to hold

with one hand.

I got up to my teacher, who I think kinda hated me at this point, and she was going to place a big red apple on my plate.

She said to me–hold your plate with both hands.

I refused.

She made her request again.

And I refused once more. I could handle it all with only one hand. I mean, I had just crossed the damn ocean on the freaking Mayflower! I knew what I was doing.

I remember my teacher being flustered with me, but she went ahead and placed the apple on my plate

and the weight of the fruit toppled the paper to one side and all the contents of my holiday feast poured off onto the floor.

I was left with an empty plate and it was my own damn fault.

I wasn’t distraught. I knew I had to live with the consequences of my own actions. Damn it, I hadn’t given in. That was what was important.

I bet that teacher was laughing at me on the inside when that happened. Whatever. She was mean. I know I made her life hard that year.

And that’s my favorite Thanksgiving story.

Here in about a month I’ll come back and tell you the story of when I made that same teacher mad while creating my walnut on a piece of red yarn Christmas ornament because I would not rest until she got the blue paint out of the art closet because I was NOT going to paint my ornament red or green like everyone else.

No sirree.

All right. I’m outa here for now. I’ve got stuff to do. I’m making dinner for friends tomorrow night, so I have to hit the grocery store.

Maybe I’ll buy some popcorn, apples and paper plates.

Thanks for reading 🙂