Opinions

I hate to brag, but retaping a package that was pre-peeked before Christmas morning was a mastered skill of this writer. The ability to align tape and wrapping paper required a dexterity and cleverness that led to a young life of covering my tracks. But like all peekers, cheap wrapping supplies were not tear-resistant back in the day. That’s where gumption came in, and a well-paced ribbon or bow would do the trick. Opening a box containing Hot Wheels track and small, toy racing cars was too tempting. Waiting until that morning was a waste of patience. Besides, my young acting skills were convincing, as surprise and shouts of “it’s what I always wanted” were the stuff of Academy awards, or so I told myself.

Given my advanced age, I have surely experienced a handful of Christmases which landed upon a Sunday.

Ever regretted your decision to trust again someone whose burned trust before? Yes, and it leaves you feeling that you should have trusted your intuition.

Since the death of my husband two years ago, God rest his soul, I continue to be contacted by financial institutions, credit card companies, travel agents and Medicare reps who have maintained his personal information and have a deal “he can’t refuse.” (So they think…) Initially I was dutiful in notifying each stakeholder of his death but believe me: NOBODY in ANY company wants to speak to a grieving widow about…well, much of anything. We widows are a very unpredictable lot, apt to cry, or shout, or ask for your advice on whether to change the tires on the car or paint the laundry room. Thus, it seems this grim responsibility within companies is assigned to the person on staff who was always late for work or didn’t make the sales quota—simply put, the employee who was on probation and had to serve time in Widow Assistance in order to return from purgatory.

Have you noticed that much of the time God works to accomplish His will, and not ours? We often wonder why certain events happen or do not happen, but when we consider that He has a certain vision and way of doing things, it can help us understand more about prayer, deeds, and faith. Does this mean that God depends on man for everything? Not necessarily. It’s true there is nothing He cannot do, but at the same time, because of His principles, He usually desires and waits for us to get involved. It’s not that He cannot do whatever He wants on His own, but He chose to develop a strategy for miracles that included working together with man’s faith.

As my cousin read aloud our Grandmother’s Brunswick Stew recipe, I enjoyed all the imagery it evoked, not to mention the aromatic recollection of that stew which was prepared with chicken, pork, tomatoes and corn in a turn-of-thecentury kitchen that always smelled heavenly. Interestingly enough, the recipe begins with, “Wring the chicken’s neck…” That’s when I usually walk away from the memory and wonder if somebody—anybody—could make me some Brunswick Stew, or Camp Stew, as we usually called it…without the manual labor my grandmother invested.

Thanksgiving is one of my favorite holidays, but between the large, delicious meals and the distractions, it’s easy to forget how much we have to be thankful for. Sadly, many have forgotten or maybe they have never known the history of human suffering, along with the gratitude the Pilgrims expressed. It’s recorded that the new colony was focused on giving God thanks for His blessings and protection as William Bradford is quoted, “Being thus arrived in a good harbor, and brought safe to land, they fell upon their knees and blessed the God of Heaven who had brought them over the vast and furious ocean, and delivered them from all the perils and miseries thereof, to again set their feet on the firm and stable earth. Thus, out of small beginnings, greater things have been produced by His hand that made all things of nothing, and gives being to all things that are; and, as one small candle may light a thousand, so the light here kindled hath shone unto many, yea in some sort to our whole nation; let the glorious name of God have all the praise.”

Don’t believe the hype.

I bring you today the sounds of a Thanksgiving dinner, translated— as closely as possible--to paper. Please tell me if you hear anything familiar. “Who didn’t wipe their feet?” grandmother asked, just as food preparations were reaching a crescendo. “Now, look at this dirt, right here by the table! Somebody get the vacuum cleaner.” Immediately, cousins leapt for the broom closet and their guilt was apparent. “Where’s the potato casserole?” asked the college sophomore, scanning the sumptuous buffet of vegetables and meats, while holding his empty plate.

My love interest with trees began when I was barely 5. My family moved into a new, red-brick home with a huge yard, and my father--who was apparently a direct descendant of Johnny Appleseed--proceeded to fill that yard up with plum trees, apple trees, pear trees and a semi-circle of mimosas in the back yard which leaned gracefully over flower beds filled with roses. He scavenged nearby woods for two tulip poplar trees which now tower to 100 feet Before any actual brick and mortar was placed on the property, he outlined the back yard with towering pine trees, flanked either side of the house-to-be with a magnolia, and put a baby pecan tree in the center of the front yard. On the sides of the front yard, he planted dogwoods in pink and white, with gardenias hovering underneath.