Thanksgivings Past...

The original log home on my friend, Julie's, farm near Reidsville, NC. To me, it says, "Over the river and through the woods..."


It probably has something to do with my age, but I'm finding now that holidays remind me more and more of other holidays -- ones that happened a long time ago.

Our Thanksgiving this year was wonderful, as all those other ones have been. Last year will always be remembered as the year we were waiting to be grandparents, speculating about what this Thanksgiving would be like. And, of course this year will go down in the annals as Charlie's first Thanksgiving (which I blogged about at http://charliesprout.blogspot.com)!

And that reminds me of Thanksgiving 1977, when I was pregnant with my beautiful daughter, Meagan. Our official due date was December 2. So I decided that Thanksgiving was a very good day to start saying, "Any day now!" Thus began nearly a month of climbing [cumbersomely] into my bed each night, thinking, Tonight's the night...

Meagan will celebrate her 33rd birthday on December 22. If you had told me back then that she was going to be three weeks late, I don't know what I would have done! (I didn't realize then, that when I got to this age, three weeks would go by in a minute!)

I also remember a Thanksgiving Day early in our marriage...We still lived in Michigan then, so holidays were double; we alternated whose family we blessed with our presence first, and who got "satiated seconds." That year, we were headed to Metamora first, to eat with my family. I can see myself, dressed [adorably] in high-wasted turquoise courduroy pants and a striped sweater with a big, square collar, shoveling snow in the driveway.

I remember that year because it was one of the few times in my life I have ever shoveled snow! Also, because, even in Michigan, it was unusual to have snow on Thanksgiving Day! (I remember what I was wearing because my memories are vivid and complete. Don't argue with me -- I remember everything! For instance, I remember that on the aforementioned Thanksgiving 1977, I was wearing an oversized wool shirt that I had made, with a turtleneck underneath. And my pregnant body was entirely too hot to be comfortable!)

And of course I remember the one and only Thanksgiving (maybe the year before the snow) when I actually cooked a turkey. I dropped it on the floor when I took it out of the oven. (If you were there that day at our humble little home on Adams Street, you're probably hearing this for the first time -- Sorry about that!) Strangely, I don't remember what I was wearing; probably because it wasn't a good memory...

Now, let's go way, way back: Thanksgiving at Grandpa Borg's house, with all the cousins and aunts and uncles. Grandpa had the most awesome basement, complete with a bar! We have home videos of the entire family -- Grandpa and Grandma and their six offspring (my mom was third from the last), with spouses and a buttload of grandkids -- sitting at a long row of folding tables laid end-to-end and covered with white paper, which was covered with the remains of a Thanksgiving feast. Well, maybe it was just the adults sitting at the table. In the video, it appears that the kids just ran back and forth to the bar, taking turns "riding" on the swivel stool. (What doesn't appear on film was what we did in the other room with the steam bath and the laundry shoot.)

Now that Thanksgiving 2010 has become a memory, I can clearly see that what I remember most about all those holidays is the wonderful feeling of being part of a family, and of always having more to be thankful for than to complain about. And that each one was truly a celebration. And I am so thankful for the memories!

Random Thoughts About My Random Dad

Tom Karlek, Thanksgiving 2007, by Karen Branson

September 23 would have been my dad's 80th birthday. (It's been three years since we've had him with us to celebrate.) That day, I began writing a post called, "Random Thoughts About My Dad on His 80th Birthday." Other than the title, I wrote only one sentence before it went into extended "draft" status: "Random is a good term to apply to my dad."

After I began the blog, I decided to look into my "Dad" file. Some of what's in there are things that I had saved -- Letters Dad had written to me, copies of articles he'd sent. But some of it is stuff that he had saved. Dad loved to write limericks, but before he'd come up with his final version, he'd sometimes have pages of drafts. I found a yellow legal page of his attempts at "A Lady Named Rose."

There once was a lady named Rose
Who liked to wear good looking clothes.
She gave some away.
Bought more today
So she can look good wherever she goes.

and

I once knew a lady named Rose
Who, when bedding, had icy cold toes.
She turned all her locks
And put on some socks
And bedded whomever she chose.

Alternate ending: What happened then, nobody knose (sic).

Dad was random in the things he saved...There was also a copy of a paper my son had written when he was in third or fourth grade entitled, "The Worst Thing That Ever Happened to Me!" (It was about the day he was born.) And a handwritten copy of a poem he (Dad) had written for Dj for his eighth birthday. The title? "Random Thoughts." Of course I'm going to share it:

D.J. Whacker, Peanut Cracker,
Few are loved as you.
If I was there, surely there
Are some things that we could do.

Ride our bikes, take some hikes,
And walk the course, at night.
Try to play, night and day,
And never have a fight.

Sounds pretty good -- I knew that it would,
'Cause it's dreaming, after all.
You are there and I am here,
While you grow strong and tall.

I don't see you as often as I'd like.
I hope that will change some down the pike.
Time can't be caught up, or ever be hurried,
But that is not something about which we should be worried.

We will just use the time given us
To play and to learn and not make a fuss,
'Cause you probably know whenever I'm there,
I don't spend my time in no damn rocking chair!

Perhaps the most random thing about the poem was the way Dad had it laid out. Lines would end and new ones would begin somewhere, randomly, in the middle of what was clearly the natural rhyme pattern (which changed randomly from verse to verse).

Dad had also saved copies of poems and articles that my sister Melissa had written, and a multi-verse limerick I wrote for him one Father's Day. The third verse is my favorite:

It was you, Dad, who always would take us
To the fair, and there you would make us
Ride Tilt-a-Whirls
Until we'd all hurl,
But not once did you ever forsake us.

I loved writing for my father -- In fact, I still do. I know that I inherited my love of words -- and playing with them -- from him. I have said that when Dad died, I lost my best audience.

Another of Dad's "treasures" that was returned to me after he'd died was a pillow on which I handstitched:

There's this guy that I like called "My Dad,"
And when I see him, I'm usually glad.
He's got pretty nice hair,
And to show him I care,
I made him a pillow that's plaid.

(Of course it was a plaid pillow.)

Dad did -- and said -- all kinds of "random" things. He was creative, as evidenced by his poetry. Another outlet for his creativity was his coloring. I remember him sitting at the table with us when we were kids, asking us why the grass had to be green, or why we could only color the sky blue. (Remember Harry Chapin's "Flowers are Red?") I was never a big fan of coloring (probably because I wasn't any good at it), and I hadn't realized that Dad's love for it had extended well past the years when he would sit and color with his kids. I remember being surprised (and later, delighted) when he told me that he was coloring a book for each of the grandkids so they'd always have something that Grandpa had done!

There's a book and television show right now based on Twitter posts some guy writes called "Shit My Dad Says." The posts are hilarious. Perhaps my dad wasn't quite as prolific as the subject of those tweets, but from time to time, some of his lines will pop into my head, randomly, and make me smile. Once, riding in the back of my brother's boat, he seemed to be meditating as he watched the wake churn away from the boat. Suddenly, he looked at me and said, "You know, water's funny. You can cut it with a knife, or a propeller...whatever...and it always goes back where it was." (I think there's a message in that, but I haven't figured it out yet.)

Something else I found in my Dad File was a stack of printed out "Sympathy Messages" from the funeral home. One was from one of his co-workers at Detroit Edison. In part, it said:

"...He looked great as usual and what a smile...His legacy to me will always be his wonderful attitude on life and others. He always looked for the positive in a person. His more recent years of volunteering with hospice can attest to his compassion. Albert Einstein said 'Only a life lived for others is a life worthshile.' God bless you. Your dad would be embarrassed that I wrote this. Tom is smiling above us all."

I don't know the person who wrote that, but he certainly knew my dad, and I am grateful for his words. Dad is smiling. And I think Dad is still reading what I write. Dad looks forward to reading my silly "smile" status updates on facebook. (In fact, if he were still here, I think he'd be on facebook just so he could read them!) I love to write, and the person I am always writing for, most of all, is my dad...

Happy Birthday to My Sunshine!

It's been a while since I've done a Birthday Blog, but today is a perfect occasion for one...





Jordyn, Autumn 2009, My LRDC


This is Jordyn, and she is my Sunshine, as the song says. Today is Jordyn's eighth birthday. She's in second grade.

I first held Jordyn in my arms when she hours old. In all her tiny perfection, she moved straight from my arms and into my heart, where she will remain forever. I call her my Tiny Best Friend.

I no longer see Jordyn every day, but on the days that I pick her up from school, I wait in the "car rider" line in happy anticipation. I never know what she's going to say as she climbs over Charlie's carseat and buckles herself in, but I know it's going to make me smile. Sometimes, though, I try not to let her see. Like the day she said, "I didn't know it was 'Wacky-Tacky' day today." I looked at her athletic sweatshirt and pink camo capri pants (which had once been pink camo bootcut jeans) and pink sandals with flowers on them, and thought, You could have fooled me!

These days, by the time I get to school, I'm generally exhausted from having kept up with Charlie -- just barely -- all morning; but Jordyn usually manages to get me excited about some project she's been working on in her mind -- either an assignment, or "just for fun." She loves school, and is wonderful about getting her homework done as soon as we get home. (Sometimes even before her usual snack of fresh, homemade [Kraft] macaroni and cheese). After that, she sometimes likes to do "crafts," but lately she's developed a liking for doing book reports for extra credit!

This little girl -- along with her entire family -- has enriched our lives (mine and My Awesome Husband Greg's) beyond count, so as Jordyn celebrates her eighth birthday, we are celebrating another year of joy and love that she's brought into our lives!

We love you Jordyn. Please have The Best Birthday Ever today!