Thanksgiving in new ways

The "holidays" bring a set of expectations to the door. We all get the yearly visit. While the particulars vary, the overall similarities are part of the American culture. We celebrate and give thanks with family, friends, and food.

The gatherings of my youth are but fond memories. The older generations, those people who passed the family name down, are gone. What remains of my parent's generation is fractured by death and ill health. My generation is equally scattered on holidays, busy with the younger generations of children and grandchildren. I have no biological children. My father has been gone for many years. My mother has Alzheimer's. The sister of my heart moved away. I am, for all intents and purposes, alone on this day, without blood relatives who share my memories. 

That's not to say I don't have people around me. My online posse is far-flung but wishes for a happy day arrived. My partner is the oldest of his siblings and we have an unconditional welcome at his youngest sister's house all days. 

Life goes on in different directions. We had a traditional Thanksgiving meal at the care facility with my mother. Afterward, we had traditional Thanksgiving dessert at his sister's house. 

So while the day didn't unfold as in year's past, it was nonetheless a good day. I could be morose that the beautiful memories of yesteryear will not be re-lived, but I'm not. This is what I have now, today, and I count my many blessings. 

Now that my partner and I are finally home again and into our comfortable old clothes, it's time to call a few of my cousins. It's time to embrace a new normal and make it my own as I go forward in life. I'm sure it will provide a new set of Thanksgiving memories, and Thanksgiving opportunities to enjoy and to be thankful for. 

Rayne
rayneforrest.blogspot.com

Of insistent muses - she said "blog" and here I am

Ah, the insidious little voice. You know the one. That persistent, annoying whisper only you can hear. We all have one. Call it the devil on your shoulder or your muse. Call it worse than that if you want. Heck, I won’t stop you. I generally refer to mine as my muse and she’s such a whiner! For 2015 she's been prattling on about blogging more regularly until I gave in and said I would try. 

It was basically a lie to myself, but here I am. Searching for something to blog about. 

I’m not sure what my topic should be today, although this past week certainly provided fodder. Everywhere I turn there's something going on. From the atrocity in Paris to Matt Kenseth standing his ground (yea!), news abounds. But this is supposed to be a blog about the writing and the author behind it. 

I’ve been busy writing this past week. Very busy. My alter ego finished a manuscript and turned it in - WITH the forms. That's not a small feat. I needed to get that finished and clear the decks for Thanksgiving. This year, I'm fixing both Thanksgiving and Christmas dinners for us and my mother and stepfather. It's not a hardship. I have a plan, and my beloved is onboard to help. 

Today is the last NASCAR race of the 2015 season, and I plan to watch most of it. It's Jeff Gordon's last race, and while I'm not precisely a Gordon fan, I have no trouble admitting he's had a stellar career. While the race is on, my partner and I will finalize the game plan for Thanksgiving and Christmas cooking. Christmas is easier because I have the day before off work, but all will be fine. 

So here it is. I’ve completed my exercise in self-discipline and blogged on schedule. Thankfully, the muse didn't insist my blogging be cohesive, or even on point. See ya next time around. Have a great day! 

Rayne Forrest

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Rayne's Ramblings: Baseball in Heaven

I always think of my grandfather when I read this "oldie but goodie" joke. Pop played baseball in the local bush leagues and was an avid Orioles fan. I hope he’s pitching next Tuesday in a game somewhere, too.

Rayne
***

Baseball in Heaven

Two ninety-one year old men, Moe and Sam, have been friends all their lives. It seems that Sam is dying of cancer, and Moe comes to visit him every day.

"Sam," says Moe, "You know how we have both loved baseball all our lives, and how we played minor league ball together for so many years. Sam, you have to do me one favor. When you get to Heaven, and I know you will go to Heaven, somehow you've got to let me know if there's baseball in Heaven."

Sam looks up at Moe from his death bed, and says, "Moe, you've been my best friend many years. This favor, if it is at all possible, I'll do for you."

And shortly after that, Sam passes on.

It is midnight a couple of nights later. Moe is sound asleep when he is awakened by a blinding flash of white light and a voice calls out to him, "Moe.... Moe...."

"Who is it?" says Moe sitting up suddenly. "Who is it?"

"Moe, it's me, Sam."

"Come on. You're not Sam. Sam just died."

"I'm telling you," insists the voice. "It's me, Sam!"

"Sam? Is that you? Where are you?"

"I'm in heaven," says Sam, "and I've got to tell you, I've got really good news and a little bad news."

"So, tell me the good news first," says Moe.

"The good news," says Sam "is that there is baseball in heaven. Better yet, all our old buddies who've gone before us are there. Better yet, we're all young men again. Better yet, it's always spring time and it never rains or snows. And best of all, we can play baseball all we want, and we never get tired!"

"Really?" says Moe, "That is fantastic, wonderful beyond my wildest dreams! But, what’s the bad news?"

"You're pitching next Tuesday!"

Giving thanks for changes

As the Thanksgiving weekend draws to a close, I can’t help but reflect on the changes in my life over the last few years. There have been many.

Time marches on, and with the passing of my grandparent’s generation, my family has drifted into the busyness of our individual lives. To recreate the big traditional dinner we once shared is too exhausting to contemplate, so we don’t. I make myself content knowing that all but one of my family is in good health, and the youngest generation, while it’s unlikely I will get to know them well, are thriving.

Those around me in busyness, mostly at my day job, bemoan the same changes in their own families. If you’re one of the lucky ones with a good job, you’re working harder than ever just to tread water. And we’re told to get used to it, because the demand that we work harder and harder with fewer rewards is now the new norm. We’re older, but we dare not falter, not with pensions to protect.

I am thankful to have a job, no matter what it does to my mental and emotional health. I’m even more thankful to have my mortgage paid in full.

This year, the Thanksgiving table I sat at was not my own, and while the hosts graciously included my mother and stepdad, I was not among family. My partner was, and for that I am thankful, even as my soul was lonely for my own bygone days. The conversation swirled around me with chitchat about people I don’t know and have no connection to, all in that family world in which I have no history. But I am thankful they value me enough to include me at their table.

Trips down memory lane are counterproductive. With family scattering, and friends determined to run away from their lives to warmer climes, the years to come will see my Thanksgiving rituals be private ones. This I know, and to survive the holidays on my own, I will need to guard them well. I am thankful to have the strength to accomplish this.

But if just one thing in life is constant, it is that change is inevitable. Sometimes one is even thankful for those changes. The wheel may yet turn full circle some future day, and the Thanksgiving table I sit at will be among my own. I would like that, and be doubly thankful.