Mama was an enabler of weirdness.

Thanksgiving is just two weeks away, and I’m already considering what makes me the most grateful this year. It’s been a tough year, especially since I lost my mom, who is most responsible for my sense of humor and moral compass.

Sure, go ahead and blame her. She gladly accepted the blame while she was alive, and I’m sure still does.

I won’t have my mom to laugh with this year, even though it’s been a while since I’ve been able to go home for Thanksgiving (holidays in the middle of a workweek are a challenge, but we always chatted on the phone). Still, I have my memories … and a lot of her recipes.

Mama’s dressing is simple and delicious, and she left the celery out because I don’t like it (that smell …).
Image found on Salty Tooth.

I plan on making a smallish pan of cornbread dressing just like she used to make to go along with a game hen (a turkey’s too big!), carrots and potatoes, though I won’t attempt her rolls since yeast and I don’t always get along. Of course, there will have to be some sort of chocolate dessert (or if pumpkin pie, a lot of whipped cream). Cooking with her will always be a favorite memory for me, even if much of what we cooked together I can no longer eat (how I miss you, spaghetti and garlic bread), and she was always happy to hear how much others enjoyed her recipes when I wrote food stories years ago. She loved that so many people at the paper became fans of her Ginger Puffs, and that my newsroom boss was one of the biggest.

I got over it. Mostly.

I also have the rest of my family, most of whom are just as weird as I am most days (except maybe my nephew Dalton, though he can be kooky too). I know that I can count on my big brothers (which I originally wrote as “bothers” … same difference) and their kids to keep me grounded, and for friends and other family (including neighbors and former teachers) back home to check in to make sure I’m OK. Weird can be OK, you know. Besides, someone has to be the eccentric aunt, and I don’t see anyone else stepping forward. And I’m the only one by blood, soooo …

I’m beyond thankful for words—the ones that make me laugh, think, cringe—all of them. I’m especially grateful for those teachers, including my late cousin Mary Lou, who fostered my love for them and gave me the knowledge needed to see that less is more, and that where you put modifiers is important. (Think Groucho Marx: “One morning I shot an elephant in my pajamas. How he got into my pajamas I’ll never know.”)

OK, those aren’t my pajamas. Mine are blue and purple.
Image found on Bored Panda.

The advice to kill adjectives when you catch them has been most useful, especially considering how many people love to throw every word they know into what they write (seriously, stop with the padding). When those adjectives are not only superfluous but misplaced, hilarity can ensue. Thank you for that. I always need a good laugh.

I’m grateful that furry friends exist in the world, though I’m still not quite ready for another one (I’m telling you, Luke is/was a very hard act to follow).

I feel pretty!

To see the joy and mischievousness in a dog or cat’s eyes, and the strong need to protect “their” humans, is to experience one of the purest kinds of love around. Luke was right there with me while I recovered from a shattered humerus 10 years ago, and a stroke six years later, entertaining me, protecting me, and keeping me (somewhat) sane.

Don’t think a dog or cat has a sense of humor? Then don’t think about all the weird things they do, sometimes just because they know it will make us laugh (huskies are especially emotive, and thank God for that). And definitely don’t watch them roll their eyes or give you side-eye when you tell a dumb joke. Yep, they’re doing that. And talking behind your back too. Count on it, especially if you have more than one critter.

Speaking of, I don’t know where I’d be without a sense of humor, especially now. Finding a way to laugh, whether it’s at yourself or the craziness around you, is healthy and will go a long way toward keeping your sanity. Don’t believe me? Read Twitter for an hour and tell me a sense of humor isn’t necessary.

I’m also thankful that there are still people willing to live in reality, and who understand that strict adherence to party politics is a dangerous road. When the only news coverage a party approves of is that which reflects it in a positive manner, it’s not reality. Reality is rough and doesn’t care about your feelings or beliefs. It doesn’t care that you were told reassuring lies. It certainly doesn’t care if you’re liberal, conservative or a member of the Very Silly Party. What it cares about is what actually happened, not what the party tells you happened. And it’s not happy about that disinformation, or all those quotes you’re taking out of context or outright making up. You don’t want to tick off reality, because it bites. Hard.

Perhaps what I’m most grateful for is you.

OK, I’m generally not this peppy … and I keep the lights off in my office … because I’m the font of all evil, according to some. They’re misinformed. It’s just some evil (and it’s the fun kind).
Image found on FreePik.

The people who call me to chat and check how I’m doing, who email me jokes and word-nerdy websites, and who send me sweet handwritten notes. I’m even grateful for the people who think I’m a raging liberal/conservative/ anarchist/weirdo. That means that at least a few people to whom I’m not related are reading my columns. In this era, that’s all you can hope for, and so many of you have made my life much brighter.

Dang it. I’m not crying. You’re crying. Stop getting my face all wet!

So . . . what are you thankful for? Let me know, and I may quote you in my column in two weeks. I swear, I’m not asking just to fill the space and not have to do the heavy lifting. But hey, whatever works.

Seriously, I want to know.
Image found on WGGR-FM.

If you’d rather just write a letter for the Thanksgiving edition of the Voices page (that would be if you’re one of my Arkansas readers), send one with fewer than 300 words by mail to Voices, P.O. Box 2221, Little Rock, Ark. 72203; by email to voices@arkansasonline.com; or through our Voices form. The deadline to get Thanksgiving letters in is 10 a.m. Nov. 26, and the usual rules apply (one letter per 30 days, no personal attacks, etc.).

What you might find is that a lot of us are thankful for the same things, regardless of what color, party, religion, etc., we may be. Maybe if we start there, we’ll have more to be thankful for next year.

A girl can hope.

There’s a lot more to be grateful for than we think.
Mutts by Patrick McDonnell (Nov. 28, 2002).