Today’s Fabulous Visiting Writer Is…

ME!

Thought I’d slip in some silliness to ease the holiday stress. Enjoy!!

A Thanksgiving Survival Kit: Sound Advice for the Day and a Cautionary Tale for the Aftertimes

1. Eat pie. This comes first on the list for a reason. Pie doesn’t come along every day, at least not in my world. If we leave it to the end, we could miss it or fail to appreciate its life-affirming qualities. Pie is life. Live it.
2. Show up. Your family likes to see your face every once in a while. If you are a student, an athlete, a writer, a teacher, and up-and-comer, a commuter, a musician, a health-care person, a working parent, a chronic worrier or an employee of some retail establishment who has yet to wake up to the fact that closing for a day won’t kill them, you might feel the pressure to work the holiday or, if you have the day off, to catch up on things that have spiraled out of control—like laundry or homework or grading or general sanity. But don’t do it. Don’t give in to any of that pressure. Not today. Treat Thanksgiving as if it were its own annual responsibility. Get up. Get dressed. Bring your game face and come ready to play. Eat pie. It’s therapeutic.
3. Watch the Macy’s Parade. Snoopy is not flying over Manhattan for his health.
4. Boycott football. It’s dumb and it’s dangerous and it makes grown men cry. Where’s the fun in that?
5. Nap. There’s nothing like a family snooze after a big meal. It’s what the people on the couch who say they’re watching football really plan to do anyway.
6. Don’t shop. The Christmas shopping crazy time will come soon enough.  If you want to get up at 4 am on Friday morning to hit the pavement or the websites, have fun with that. But even online shopping on Thanksgiving Day increases stress, jeopardizes family harmony and contributes to yet another private jet under the Bezos family Christmas tree. Staying offline and out of the stores on Thanksgiving means that you’ll be present and alert and more likely to get first dibs on the pie.
7. Walk. How about a family stroll to clear the head, aid in digestion, fight the urge to shop and make room for more pie?
8. Eat real whipped cream. Better yet, whip it yourself. Sprinkle it with lemon zest or cinnamon or chocolate shots. What the hell. It’s just once a year. If it’s possible to improve on the magnificence of pie, this is it.
9. Drink wine. This should be self-explanatory. Also, it helps to wash down the pie.
10.  Do NOT, under ANY circumstances, utter the name of any politician, elected official, past elected official, wanna-be elected official, side-kick of any of any current official-elect, alt-right crusader, alt-left crusader, attorney-general nominee, agency-head nominee, house speaker, news network, TV talking head or alleged high profile sex offender at any time, in any context or in any corner of the room. You will not win the argument that will most definitely ensue, no matter what side you’re on. (Let’s face it. We’re all on a side.) You will only risk getting those beautiful pies smeared in your face—and that would be a terrible thing to do to pie.

     In summary, be nice. Be thankful. Appreciate the bounty. Eat. Exercise. Socialize. Have a little wine. Keep your wallet in your pocket and your big mouth shut. And don’t forget to stash away a piece of pie for Friday. You’ll be happy you did.

The Cautionary Tale:

 The Week Past Thanksgiving: A Lament

‘Tis a week past Thanksgiving and inside my fridge

Is the sadness that happens when we cross that bridge

From feast into famine that invariably follows

A week made for gluttons and too many swallows.

Desserts were stupendous, the big bird—a prize!

And I thought that my stomach would outsize my eyes.

And so with abandon I ate all I saw—

The turkey, the carrots, the rolls and the slaw,

The cranberry jelly that mixed well with stuffing,

Potatoes so light there was no need for fluffing,

The cheeses and olives, mimosas and wine,

And “More, please” and “Yes, please” and “That wing is fine,”

All smothered in gravy and chased with a pie—

‘Til I was so full I was sure I would die.

But then came the leftovers—pick, pick, pick, pick—

And I’m thankful today that I didn’t get sick.

But though my insides stayed healthy and hearty and hale,

My outsides were stunned by that mean, spiteful scale.

And now here I sit feeling puffy and round

As the scale laughs maniacally, pound upon pound.

So today in my fridge there is nothing to crow for,

Nothing my sweet tooth or bread butt could go for.

Instead there’s arugula, yogurt, a pear,

Some cherry tomatoes that squirt in my hair

When I stick a fork in them picturing candy

And wishing they came with a snifter of brandy—

Just a small one will do or a thimble of sherry

(Or a jug of cheap wine, like Boone’s Farm strawberry)

To ward off the sadness that follows the glut

When fridges are empty and zippers won’t shut.

See you at the gym!

Copyright © 2019, 2024 by D. Margaret Hoffman