Today I pulled a pure white hair from my right eyebrow.
According to the dictates of the season, I should now tell you that I’m grateful to be able to see that white hair, to have hands steady enough to pluck it, to have a bathroom door with a lock so I could mourn in privacy, and probably just to have eyebrows at all.
Yup. Those are darn good things and I am grateful for them all.
But now I’m going to tell you what I’m really grateful for.
My sense of humor. It may irritate the hell out of others, but it keeps me entertained and off the streets.
My friends and family who laugh at my jokes, even if they’ve already heard them and wish I would just get over it already.
My husband. He doesn’t laugh at my fears, my mistakes or my agonized hand wringing over insignificant issues. He doesn’t get upset when I don’t take his advice. He thinks I’m smart and funny and sexy, and l can’t imagine what else I would want. It helps that I also think he’s smart and funny and sexy. Plus he has excellent dental insurance.
My daughters. At 11 and 13, they make me laugh, they laugh with me, and they still think I’m pretty cool to hang around with. They enable my addiction to the Food Network, they don’t want to dress like miniature hookers, and they are open, smart, funny, loving people.
My extended family. The in-laws, the outlaws, the maternal, paternal and married into. My cousins, because my life would just be sad, dull and colorless without them.
My Mom, who is 80 and still knows who I am when I call.
I’m deeply grateful that I know who I am, and that definition doesn’t depend on what number the scale says, whose label is in my jeans or whether men I don’t know (and don’t care to know) think I’m “hot.”
Cotton underwear that doesn’t ride up.
My nephew who came home from college, for wanting to come home for the holidays. My other nephew for sharing my love of questionable movies.
My brother and sister, who support me no matter if they think I’m crazy. Nancy, for teaching me how to always move onward and upward. Chuck, for teaching me it’s ok (and more than ok) to think before you speak.
The fact that perimenopause hasn’t yet caused me to run up and down the street with an axe or a gun.
Richard and Margie, for never blanching at the insane things I say, do or propose.
Ben and Amy, for moving here and restoring balance to the universe, although I’m sure we’re disturbing the Force.
Frieda, for everything. For knowing where the bodies are buried. For providing countless reality checks. For knowing when nothing will suffice except an application of beer and salt & vinegar potato chips.
Gretchen, for providing the most solid rock of sanity in the multiverse, and for giving me my personal mantra, “What would Gretchen do?” And for not hesitating to tell me I’m an idiot when the situation calls for it.
My critique group. Wow. I’d be a much suckier writer without them. They’re smart and funny and excellent writers and, for some strange reason, they let me join their merry band.
My book group. They keep me balanced and make me think of new points of view on a monthly basis.
Vic, for teaching me it’s sometimes OK to say “who give a fuck?”
My bunko group, who always makes me laugh. Sure, sometimes I’m shaking my head in disbelief, but the laughter is always there.
A marvelously therapeutic concoction of dark rum, ginger beer and lime juice. I don’t know what to call it except perfect.
Finding a pair of winter boots for my daughter with size 11 feet. On sale!
Completing National Novel Writing Month early this year.
The fact that Andy’s Meat Market sells turkey wings, allowing me to make copious amounts of gravy.
Craig Ferguson. Because his show always makes me laugh out loud, not because he’s devilishly handsome. Although he is. And his accent is yummy. But it’s because he’s funny. Honest!
Last but not least, I’m just grateful to be alive and kicking.
Happy Thanksgiving to everyone. I hope if you have time, you’ll take a moment to leave a comment and tell me what you’re grateful for.