Finding Thanksgiving

 Finding Thanksgiving

Mike and I are hosting Thanksgiving for Mike’s family.

To make sure we have room for everyone, I found a folding table with chairs to set up in the living room. We bought the turkey. The menu is planned and Mike’s family invited. 

Last week, I measured all of the table surfaces and set out to buy some Thanksgiving table linens. Okay, they didn’t have to be linen. Paper tablecloths with matching napkins and paper plates would have been fine. 

But they were nowhere to be found.

Even Walmart offered no Thanksgiving ware or even plain, suitable tablecloths. I went to Bealls and found nothing “Thanksgiving-y”.  Finally, I found a few things at Big Lots. I had to rummage through the bin to find enough placemats, two decorative pillows for the couch, some paper napkins, and three round green placemats to use like hotplates for each table. They have “Grateful” embroidered on them. 

We have some plastic disposable plates we can use and enough blue solo cups. We’re fine and I know the event will be fun. The food will be delicious and the company great. It’s the people that count.

But when I got home, I told Mike it was as if the whole of Citrus County had skipped Thanksgiving altogether. A few weeks ago, you couldn’t go anywhere without Halloween decorations hitting you in the face. Now, Christmas is EVERYWHERE! Seriously. 

Finding Thanksgiving was a feat.

But finding it is a must. For all of us. Thanksgiving has a rich history. The traditional story is one of friendship and support across ethnic lines. A coming together to celebrate God’s provision of food and family and friends. It is my favorite holiday.

Last Sunday at church we learned of a way to help people in North Carolina who lost everything in Hurricane Helene. 

A man from our church is taking a truckload of donations to the area every week. Not canned goods. They have food pouring in from other ministries. But it is starting to get cold. I should say “colder.”  I’ve been in the Appalachian Mountains in late August when you can see your breath on a frosty morning. 

People from our church are sending blankets, sleeping bags, warm socks, warm sweaters, shirts, and jackets. It doesn’t have to be new. It has to be warm. And clean.

As Mike and I went through our closets and made a list of what we had to donate and what we could buy to send, my thoughts turned to those Pilgrims of the Mayflower. 

Those Mayflower Pilgrims’ first winter was devastating. But strangers pitched in and offered help.

It isn’t the turkey, the mashed potatoes, or dressing. It isn’t the pecan or pumpkin pie. It isn’t finding matching tablecloths and napkins. Thanksgiving isn’t merely “giving thanks.” 

For us? Thanksgiving is about offering thanks to God for all we have and about giving all we can to help those in need. May we all find Thanksgiving this season.

Leave a comment below to tell us in a sentence or two how you celebrated Thanksgiving! I'm looking forward to your Thanksgiving experience!

Happy Holidays to All!

 
 

 

 

 

'57 Corvette

 Of Cars, Corvettes, and Kids

When I married Mike, I entered the world of Cars. Not the animated movie. The world of going to car shows and learning to appreciate the wonder of metal and motors. The world of fiberglass and chrome. 

I already had an appreciation for cars. To a degree. I knew what I liked and didn’t like. I hold dear the memories of my first car, a ’66 Mustang.

A “first car” is a memorable experience. So much so, that when Mike retired from his work at the electric company, he treated himself to a car identical to the first car he owned. The one he drove in high school. A ’69 Chevelle Super Sport. 

I don’t want or need my old Mustang back, but the memory of driving to high school, taking friends to the beach at a place called Lake Ellen, and to Frisch’s restaurant and such…those memories are strong. Good. And sufficient.

I remember the day I wrecked it, too. 

This past week, I was able to be a part of a different car experience. One that touched my writer’s soul.

Interesting Car Show...
More Than I Ever Expected

Mike and I drove to a Corvette show in a place called Howey-in-the-Hills, Florida. The town may be small, but it boasts a beautiful golf course, country club, and resort. The show was sponsored by the National Corvette Restorers Society (NCRS). Mike’s friend, Jay, took his 1957 Corvette to show. He didn’t want it judged. He has not restored it nor will he ever restore it.

The 1957 Corvette

The vehicle was originally purchased in La Jolla, California, shipped to Germany for a short period of time, then back to the United States. To Florida. Jay purchased it from the original owner in 1974. He had it for forty-one years, before bringing it out of storage. It had a history. Moreover…it has a story.

Shortly after Mike and I arrived at the show, a man walked over, looked at the car, and introduced himself as William. He handed a small keychain to Jay. “I thought I might have to mail this to you,” he said. The keychain belonged to his father and bore the image of the original license plate of the car.

William was the son of the original owner of the car. “You know how that scratch on the front fender got there?” he asked.

“I’ve heard a story,” Jay answered. “But you tell me what you know.”

“I did it,” William confessed. “I peddled into it with my toy John Deere tractor.”

Jay smiled and nodded. “That’s the story I heard.” 

William pointing to the scratch he inflicted
 on the fender of the car with his peddled tractor.

Soon after, William’s sister, Elizabeth, arrived. “How about that,” she marveled. “And the faculty parking sticker from the college where Daddy taught is still there on the bumper.”

The parking sticker for 
Lake Sumter Community College
Note the plywood cover
for the spare tire in the trunk.

Elizabeth told me how her dad loaded four of the kids in the small car, the two older boys sitting on the passenger seat holding two younger ones on their laps to take the “littles” to the babysitter and drop the older ones off at school. Car seats weren’t required back in the day.

Shortly after that, another brother, Byrnes, arrived on the scene. He, too, had stories to share with Jay. The three siblings walked around the vehicle, talking, remembering, laughing, and leaning into the memories of their father. 

The Corvette with the siblings and Jay
A good day to remember.

It was a hot, sunny, November day in Florida. A day to enjoy. A day made richer because three adults returned to their childhood memories and, in a way, have their father with them again. 

And they were willing to share their stories with me. 

 

It's a Small World

 Six Degrees of Separation or…Kevin Bacon, Are You Out There?

“What a small world!”

You’ve heard the phrase. A 1929 short story by Frigyes Karthinthy and a 1990 play by John Guare came out purporting that everyone is connected by six degrees or less. Sort of a small world ideology, if you will. For a while, people would suggest that everyone in show business was somehow connected to the actor Kevin Bacon by a mere six steps of separation.

The first time I heard of this “theory” was when I was teaching overseas. One of the teachers invited a few of us newbies on the scene to gather and get to know each other.

Living In Europe Has Perks

As we talked, two of the new teachers noted an immediate connection to me. 

One coming from Pepperdine University in Malibu, had as her professor the woman who started the program I inherited at the University where I taught for over a dozen years. Her professor and I had met and talked on occasion. Another was the daughter of a woman I knew in Cincinnati. 

A third teacher, a woman from Germany, there to teach mathematics in the high school, said it was not likely we had any sort of connection. I agreed. 

Later that evening, the conversation turned to our first impressions of the city we now called home, crazy drivers and unusual traffic patterns came up as we talked.

"I’ve never seen people drive like this,” one of the women noted. 

“Oh, I don’t know,” I offered. “I think this is nothing compared to the traffic in Cairo.”  

“How do you know about the traffic in Cairo?” the math teacher asked in her heavy German accent. 

“I spoke for a group of teachers and parents at an international school there.”

“What school?”

“Hmm…I’m trying to remember the name. The director was Hope Boyer.” (Note, I am not using the real names of any of these folks since many of them still teach abroad.)

“Hope Boyer!” the German woman called out.” She is the reason I became a teacher! I went to the international school in Cairo when my father worked there.” 

I love those kinds of interesting ways complete strangers come together and find they have something or someone in common. It seems to happen to me quite often. 

This past week, Mike and I went to a great little diner in Inverness a few miles south of where we live. We’ve eaten there before. The food and service are great. 

The name of the place on US 41 in Florida is simply “The Diner” and I DO recommend it. 

During the “snowbird” months, they host a Friday evening car show on the premises. As Mike and I ate, our server told us they are trying to boost their clientele. I offered to put some pictures up on Facebook. I walked around the restaurant and took a few photos. One couple said I didn’t need to cut them out, they didn’t mind if I shared their picture. Then Mike and I headed outside to sit with the Chevelle for the show. 

A restored 1950 Ford coupe had parked near us. Not long after, the pleasant couple from the diner came out. It was their car. Their son joined them for a while and we all engaged in easy conversation on a comfortable November evening in Florida. 

Soon after their son left, the woman, Jill, asked where we live. 

“Inverness” we replied. Mike went on to tell her exactly where we were located. When he started offering landmarks on the road leading to our house, the expression on the woman’s face changed. 

“What color is your house?” she asked.

“Uh, we had it painted gray,” I told her. 

“Was it an ugly pumpkin orange?” she asked.

Mike and I looked at each other. “Yes.”

“That was our son’s house.” They shared his name and sure enough, though we had never met him before, that was the name of the previous owner. “The man who just left,” she said. That was our son. It was his house.” 

Jill and her husband, Patrick, and Mike and I enjoyed our time together.

 Oh yes…it is indeed a small world. As for Kevin Bacon? I’ll let you know. I’m only on step one…

 

 

Lemonade

 Lemonade

I’ve long embraced the saying, “When life hands you a lemon, make lemonade.”

It’s a perspective. A way of taking something difficult or unexpected and turning it into something good. 

There are many examples in the Bible. For instance, jealousy drove Joseph’s brothers to beat him up, steal his coat, throw him in a pit, then sell him into slavery, but God later used Joseph to save his family from famine. Long story, but if you want the details, read Genesis in the Old Testament of the Bible. The Bible is full of such examples, the ultimate being the crucifixion of Jesus. Jesus had to die so we can live. 

There are modern day examples of “if that hadn’t happened…I wouldn’t be here.” 

But this blog post isn’t really about those types of events. It’s actually about…well…lemonade.

This is the Pure Lemon Juice,
Lemons, and Nifty Juicer.
Cool, Huh?

When Mike and I moved to our home in Citrus County, we inherited a couple of fruit trees. We’ve enjoyed fresh picked grapefruit at breakfast several mornings. Though we think of them as yellow, grapefruit are generally ripe when they just start to turn a bit yellow… while they are still mostly green. They’ve been a tasty treat for us and a good source of vitamin C.

This week, Mike handed me a lemon. Actually, he carried in a bucket of lemons he picked from our lemon tree. I didn’t have a juicer but found a handy dandy one at the grocery store. 

Fresh squeezed lemonade. There is something fulfilling about harvesting a crop and feeding your family. In my past I’ve grown tomatoes and canned them, picked berries and made jelly. I’ve made pickles out of cucumbers I harvested from a backyard garden. But that was all in the past. 

This week, I squeezed a full jar of lemon juice. Enough to quench the thirst of a large crowd…or two people who happen to love lemonade as well as a refreshing glass of lemonade mixed with tea, known as an Arnold Palmer.

Here’s the recipe I use:

Lemonade:
1) Gently cook one cup of water with one cup of sugar, stirring until the sugar is dissolved.

2) Slightly cool the syrupy mixture and add 1-2 cups of lemon juice. (We like about 1½ Cups. You know, lemony but not too tart.) 

3) Stir.

4) Add five (5) more cups of water. Stir and chill. 

Enjoy! And if you have lemon to lemonade life stories…please share!