Pity Party

For reasons that are unclear to me, I've suddenly begun to feel sorry for myself because I can't be with my sons and their wives for Thanksgiving. We'll all be together on Dec. 14, but there will be so much else going on at that time that it won't be the same.

When I was a little girl in elementary school, we always sang "Over the river and through the woods, to Grandmother's house we go. The horse knows the way to carry the sleigh o'er the bright and glistening snow...." In Louisiana we hardly ever had snow, and certainly not at Thanksgiving. But this year here in Michigan, the weather report has our first real snowfall predicted for Thanksgiving Day. The esteemed one and I will probably sleep late, watch parades, go out for a late lunch, and then nap over the football games. Of course we're also likely to chat with the boys over the phone and with my mother-in-law and perhaps my sisters. That often makes it worse for me, though. We have spent so many wonderful Thanksgiving Days at my mother-in-law's house, with the kids at the "little table" and the rest of us at the main table. My father-in-law would offer an extra bit or two to his usual prayer, asking God to bless each and every family represented. Now look at us. He's gone now. My mother-in-law will probably have lunch with one of my husband's brothers. We're up here away from everyone. The "kids" aren't kids now. Both my sons are married. One of each of my husband's brothers' children are married and the others are grown. One has two children; another has one child. One of the families is so estranged that they will likely never gather around a holiday table together again, and that just breaks my heart.

Nothing gold can stay. And I must learn to find happiness somehow in this cold place where nobody knows or cares about us.

It was good, though, to have a long talk with my dear friend Ellie who called last night. We talked about perhaps going to England as a foursome this coming summer. That would be really a wonderful trip to plan. I could go to the little village of Cockerham, perhaps, where supposedly my ancestors hail.

It's time for me to shake off the blues and get busy. Dr. S.