Can you make a Thanksgiving at a restaurant?

It may be a silly thought. I’m sure that people do make a happy Thanksgiving at restaurants every year. And probably have for as long as there have been restaurants and Thanksgiving.

In my case, I have been luckier.  Ever since before I was born, my family has held Thanksgiving dinner at home.  For the past 59 years, at my mothers home. Sometimes it was just a few of us, other times there were tables set up all over the house. But it was always at my mother’s house.

And although this delighted me, it was not always a hit with my former wives.  But still it was tradition that reached back into my past much farther than they did. And I was inflexible.

Other holidays have fallen.  Mother’s day, Easter, and last year even Christmas, all home cooked meals that were outsourced, not to carry in, but to dine out. I didn’t complain.  I realized that if I was in my late 50’s that put my mother in her early 80’s.  Cleaning and cooking for holidays is hard work.  It doesn’t matter if it’s for five or thirty family and a dozen or so strays and their families that my mother would befriend and, for a day, make them feel as at home and as much a part of the family as I did. 

We all pitched in to help cook and prepare. But it just got to be too much. So one at a time the holidays fell.  But no matter what happened I still had Thanksgiving.

Until today.

Now I realize that thanksgiving is celebrated across the United States.  And everybody SAYS that it is a day to reflect on friends and family and the few or many gifts life had bestowed on you. People SAY that, but I felt it.  I didn’t realize just how much I felt it until my Mother told me about two weeks ago that she and my youngest brother were looking for a restaurant to make thanksgiving reservations.

I smiled.  I don’t know why I smiled. I certainly didn’t feel like smiling, I felt like running around the room like a spoiled three year old, smashing thing indiscriminately and screaming “No, no, no, no, no!!! “ 

But I smiled.  I offered other alternative and the discussion was long, but in the end fruitless.  Today my mother, my brothers, our sons, and even a new great grandson ate thanksgiving dinner… out.

It took me a while to wrap my head around it.  And I am not a good enough actor to hide my displeasure in the entire affair.  We had eaten many meals at this particular restaurant before and the food had always been good. 

Today I didn’t like a bite of it. However, I couldn’t tell you if it was any good.  I didn’t taste it. I did my best to make light of everything that I was hating, but I’m not sure I fooled anyone.  It wasn’t a tantrum, It wasn’t moping. My thanksgiving was broken and I was realizing that it wasn’t the food.

Since I was nine or so, my brothers and I had been living in a true matriarchy.  My mother was the head of the family.  You just didn’t say no, because you never wanted to disappoint her.  My middle brother traveled from across country to see her.  His eldest son and my eldest son brought their families from states away to see her too.  And my mother was now eighty-three. 

The three hundred pound gorilla sitting in my lap was not about loosing a home cooked meal.  It was about loosing my mother and perhaps my family. Would we still gather in years to come after my mother was gone. Or would we, like so many other families be relegated to seeing each other only during some five or ten year reunion. 

These are questions to which I have no answer. I cannot answer. It’s not just up to me.

So the next gathering is Christmas.  And we will be eating out.  But my attitude will be different. I won’t be secretly grousing about the food.  Because the food won’t matter.  The place will not matter.  Only holding my family close for as long as I can will matter.  And marking every moment we share together.

And that will matter most.

Be Well.

A time to leave...

It began as a glance.  

Not across a crowded room at a party or anything quite so romantic or cliché, but you walked past on a jobsite.  

Covered in paint, hair like a wild pony’s mane, coarse, knotted and bleached by the summer sun.  

It’s been a long trip since that day, well over twenty-three years.  

Since that first day I knew I would never be able to keep you.  

No one ever will.

Even before I had you, I knew.  

But I held on for as long as I could.  

Longer than I should. 

There is so much good to remember, sad that some is spoiled by the ending.

I will never know another woman like you.

But you will never be loved, like you were by me.

Good-bye.

The last big forclosure

"For sale, one country, used. Not cheap, but affordable with many perks for the right buyer(s). Spacious skies, with purple mountains, foreclosed farm land, and vast plains ready for development and exploitation. Beach front included on East,West, and partially Southern exposures(although the Southeast area is prone to storm damage). Current occupants are somewhat intelligent but remain lethargic and basically apathetic. Some inerudite members will trade claims to property and savings for sparkly promises. Greatest cooperation is won by letting them think that they are "in charge." A real fixer-upper. Previous management began some remodeling but disagreed over where best to make changes and never finished. Property is already subdivided and some plots have expressed a preference in being sold separately. New management interested in immediate liquidation of assets as business requires travel overseas. Sorry, all purchases must be made in precious metals, international stocks, bonds, or jewelry as the local currency is expected to have no value. Interested parties are requested to contact our brokers; the U.S. Chamber of Commerce or American Crossroads."

What's Not In Your Wallet?

Well, it finally happened to me. We have had security breaches before, but it was always expected because the attempts followed one of the family loosing a credit card, leaving a check book, or my wife had her purse stolen once. But we always discovered the breach before any money (except ant cash we might have had) was taken.

This week-end started out so nice. We had a break in the 100 plus degree heat, there was a breeze, even a smattering of rain. We had spent most of Saturday morning on the back patio just enjoying it all. Birds were at the feeders, the chickens were scratching around in the lawn, still damp from the shower, the dogs were lazily sniffing around the yard, it was nearly perfect.

The Phone rang and I got up to answer. It was the VISA Fraud center asking me to verify some purchases. I had gotten these calls before. If I or my wife ordered something expensive on the interweb, VISA would call to check and I always voiced my appreciation that they were watching my back. A recorded message asked me to verify several charges made with a charge card ending in 2993. It was at that point I snapped to attention.

My wife, Karen and I have worked very hard in the past eight or so years to eliminate our credit cards. Having each been married before, we had started our new life together with old debt that our spouses had not paid. In addition, we were both working independent doing film, theater, and TV spots and Arizona had made some political errors with the MLK holiday that, like now with the SB1070 law and its dubious revisions, shows coming to Arizona are canceling or just relocating. Work dries up and you live off your credit.

Bad idea,

It took twelve years to get out of that trap. Finally four years ago, just before the housing crunch fell on us all, I refinanced our home and nailed everything that was left. Credit card became plastic confetti in my shedding machine. Bank of America, MasterCard, Sears, JCPenny, American Express, Visa Silvers, Visa Platinums, Visa Visas, all fell prey to the whirling knives as they were paid in full and closed forever. It was ecstasy.

Since we have had a few choice store cards that relate to my wife's company. One General Visa card from our bank and our checking debit cards. No credit balances over $1000.00, everything else is cash. Before the housing market values fell, we even still had over half the value of our home in equity.

So the mechanical voice on the phone said the account ended in 2993, with so few cards left, I know them all. This was not a credit card; this was our checking debit card. This was going to be bad. I listened as the mechanical "man" at the other end of the phone line ran off four charges done that morning at a Wal-Mart in Columbus Georgia. I immediately chose option "5" speak to a human being and was pleasantly surprised that the person answering spoke perfect English. I identified myself and after the obligatory "And what can I do for you today?" question I said, "Stop the card." .
"So these are not your charges?"
"I, and my wife are here in Phoenix, the charges are in Georgia. Stop the card."
"Are you in possession of the cards?"
"I will check to be absolutely sure that both cards are here, but in the mean time stop the card!" I said and put down the phone. Racing into the kitchen I checked both my wallet and Karen's purse and, yes, we had both our cards. Back on the phone, "I have both cards in my hand, those cannot be our charges."
"I see another charge has come through, I put a stop on the card."
"Another charge? Came through just now?" I asked. In my mind I could see dollar bill lining up with little arms raised and being marched out of my account.

So now there were five. Four in Georgia at the same Wal-Mart and one in Tennessee at a furniture store. The woman on the other end of the line assured me that no more charges would be passed and gave me a 800 telephone number to file a claim for the bad charges. After she hung up, I tried the 800 number and got a voice that said the number "could not be completed as dialed."

Perfect.