Thanksgiving Memories

Thanksgiving memories.   We all make them.  We all talk about them.  We all cherish them.

The turkey's gone, the families are gone, and most of the leftovers are gone, but the laughs and conversations still echo through the house.

This year is a first.  It's the first Thanksgiving where we had Marilyn, (Princess Marilyn is what she expects to be called).  Marilyn was here, complete with a turkey hat and turkey bib that Gram bought her....

and I know that one day she'll look at the picture and ask who did this to her and I will calmly say, "Mommy and Daddy did it."  It's her first year of seeing what damage a Workman clan can do to a fifteen pound turkey, not to mention the extra turkey breast, the stuffing, the ham, the vegetables and especially the pumpkin pies.  She may be traumatized.

I remember, also, another Thanksgiving at the Workman house.  It included Workman parents, a Workman brother and his family, a Workman sister and all her family, their children and spouses and kids, girlfriends and grandkids.  What fun!

Another Thanksgiving included Borings, (yes, that's my last name and I've already heard all the "Boring" jokes).  My dad was able to come up and the reason this is a special memory is because mom and dad divorced when I was three and he wasn't a big part of my life.  But this particular season, he came up.  It was the first time he had ever been to my house since I moved to WV as a young girl.  I had made all the fixins' and because he was crippled with arthritis and almost completely blind, I was fixing his plate.  I was asking him which things he liked and when I came to the sweet potato casserole, he said he didn't want any because he didn't like sweet potatoes.  But, because I think I make the best sweet potato casserole and my pride wouldn't let me pass it up, I put a little dollop of it on his plate.  So, when he finished his plate of food, I asked if he wanted any pie or anything else.  He passed  on the pie, but he said he wanted some more of "that stuff" pointing to where the casserole had previously been and all that was left there was a little smear of sweet potatoes.  He said, "what was that stuff, again?"  I said, "That was sweet potato casserole, Daddy."  He said, "Oh, I don't like sweet potatoes."  So I promptly went back and put two dollops on his plate.  He ate it all.  No, I don't mean he cleaned his plate.  He ate all my casserole!  I had to keep going back to get more, as we went through the whole "I don't like sweet potatoes" conversation again.

What sweet memories.  Daddy is no longer with us, but Marilyn has a whole lifetime of Workman Thanksgiving memories ahead of her.

There are places at our table that were empty, but are now being filled with the newest generation.  There are memories that we have to look back upon, but there are memories still to be made.

I'm reminded of my pastor's message on family, friends, and faith.  I'm so thankful for my family, who is my strength, who is my happiness, who is my very heart.  I'm thankful for my friends who are the bonus, who are the frosting on the cake, who are the "extra" blessing in my life.  And I am thankful for my faith, which is very small sometimes, but God blesses anyway.

1 Thessalonians 5:18  In everything give thanks: for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus concerning you.

Falling Down

Falling down.  I'm pretty good at it.  I fell out the back door when I was pregnant with my first son.  I fell while carrying my second son, as an infant, going up the steps to church.  My third son was safe...no falls.  I don't even want to mention all the falling that was involved when I was learning to ride a bike.   I fell off a ladder when I was painting at home and had to lay there until someone came home. 

I stopped one day to get some pictures of the lake on my way home from Princeton.  It was a beautiful, sun shiny day.  I got my new camera out, got out of the car to get a good angle.  While I was concentrating on getting a good shot, I forgot to watch where I was going, or I would have seen that big hole before I stepped in it.  That was a broken foot fall.

I fell down the front steps while my puppies ran around like lunatics.  I fell over the flower border when my puppies were dogs, but they were still lunatics.

My latest fall was just the other day.  I was casually walking out the boardwalk in front of our wood shed.  I wasn't hurrying, just strolling, but unbeknown to me, the lunatic dogs run on that walk every day, thus coating it with a thin film of mud.  I'm not sure what really happened, but I think there was a back flip involved and I ended in a split, then pitched forward by momentum onto both my knees.  My thoughts as I was falling was wondering if my lunatic dogs were now grown up enough to be like Lassie.  Would they go running for help and bark incessantly until someone would understand that an old woman was laying somewhere with her legs twisted on backwards?  Would they go get a rope and pull me to safety?

Well, no.  They ran in circles, barking and then ran around the house.  They are still lunatics.  I finally was able to put all my parts back where they were supposed to be and walked in the house, covered in mud, sat down and watched the dogs out the window run around like....well, like lunatics.

Like I said, I'm pretty good at this falling down stuff.  I've made an art out of it.  But everytime I've fallen, I've gotten up.  That's the point.  Anyone can fall, the hard part is getting up.

I've been knocked down alot in my life.  Parents divorced...got up.  Husband lost his job...got up.  Financial hardships...got up.  Betrayed and hurt by friends and family...got up.  Lost a beautiful daughter...got up.

So, it's not how many times you've been knocked down, it's how many times you get up. 

2 Corinthians 4:17  For our light affliction, which is but for a moment, worketh for us a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory