And Now for Something Completely Different...

This is a pic of my family from 1989... Trust me, none of us look like that anymore. But I love that pic of my Mom laughing her a$$ off! I miss her most about this time of year, but I sure am thankful to have been raised by such a fantastic lady!

Tomorrow is Thanksgiving. Most of you will be spending the day stuffing your gob with decadent deliciousness, watching football and either enjoying or enduring family and friends. Some will be cooking themselves into a frenzy. Some will be burning up the highway making the rounds of different dinners and holiday obligations.

And some of you will, like me, be at work.

Now, before you say it, no "awwww's." This is not going in the whiney, self-pitying direction that sentence implies, because I'm a nurse. People don't stop being sick or injured or in need of care just because it's a holiday.

In fact, Thanksgiving being about.... well, being thankful, I find Thanksgiving at the Ranch to be gratitude inducing.

First is the obvious...I'm healthy enough to be at work and not in one of the beds.

Second, my family is healthy enough that I'm not sitting a vigil in the ICU waiting room, pacing the floor while someone I love is in surgery, or impatiently waiting for a doctor to see my family member in the Emergency Department.

Third, I am in a unique position to make a difference. I can make a craptastic situation a little less feces filled for my patients and their families. A smile, a kind word, an extra orange jello and lemonlime shasta... it's little, but when you feel like ass, it's a lot.

And finally, I get to cook on the weekend rather than Thursday, which means, of course I get the turkey after they go on sale!! Usually about half price. So I'm frugal... don't judge me.

So that's what I'm grateful for in working on Thanksgiving.

In general, I'm thankful for my family, my home, my friends and both of my loyal readers! I'm thankful for the opportunity to express myself freely and be accepted for who and what I am. Y'all rock my socks!

This year, I am especially grateful for some new friends in my life, both people I have met on these intrawebs and in-real-life. My life is richer for them.

Soooooo......

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone. I hope the food is fantastic, the football team you root for wins and drunk Uncle Joe doesn't tell any embarrassing stories to your new significant other about the time you.... well, fill in the blank with your most mortifying childhood memory.

Oh, yeah.... don't forget, friends don't let friends drive with the itis... take that nap before you hit the road for home!

He Ain't Heavy, He's My Uncle

Plenty of what I write references my Mom. She's my sHero. And more than plenty of my decisions and actions are directly influenced by what I think she would expect/want/be proud of.

This post isn't exactly about her, but in a round about way it is.

The true subject of today's random and pressing post is my uncle, Alvin Beck, my mother's oldest brother. Found him dead in his basement this morning. That's so raw and ugly a thing to say, but it's the truth. And after arrangements are made, phone calls placed and news broken, where do I turn? My friends and loved ones.... and the internet. I think that's because so much of how I process things is by forcing them into making sense through the written word. It makes things manageable and real and tangible. Anyhoooo.... I just want to share some things about my uncle.

First of all, in his last few years, Al became somewhat of an eccentric oddball. He gave in somewhat to the pressures of the world. But when I was a kid, he was "Uncle Al, the kiddies pal!"

He was the proverbial favorite uncle. He was the one who played all the musical instruments (guitar, banjo, mandolin, trombone, trumpet, keyboard, fiddle). He was the one who bought a house that had a small renter's cottage on the back lot... specifically for use as a playhouse for his nieces and nephews. He was the one that took us mushroom hunting, rock climbing, fishing, and to the dime store with $5 each to buy whatever we wanted (and let me tell you, at the dime store in the early 70's, $5 was a small fortune when whatever we wanted was usually penny candy and maybe a Barbie doll).

He and my Aunt Carol didn't have any kids of their own, so my brother, cousins and I always made the grand haul for birthdays and Christmas. They always fixed us the bomb-ass Easter baskets and organized the ultimate in Easter egg hunts. There were cookouts almost every weekend of every summer with the juciest chicken and burgers, hotdogs done just right, all the trimmings and inevitably homemade ice cream with fresh strawberries to top it all off.

He was there for all the milestones of my life. Birthdays, Confirmation, graduations, proms and homecomings... there was Uncle Al with his camera, documenting it all. There is photographic proof of every jacked up outfit, every unfortunate hair style, and poor makeup choice I ever made thanks to him! When I got my first apartment, he furnished it for me.... and I mean bed, bedding, table and chairs, armchair, dishes, pots and pans, silverware, towels, cleaning supplies... the whole set up!

Everything I ever did in my life, he was somewhere in the picture. Even if he didn't approve of what it was I was doing, he was still there, just like my mom was, waiting for me to find my way back to the right path. He had faith in me like that, ya know, that I would find my way back. "You're a smart, girl, Amy. You'll work it out." He never really told me, "Hey, you're messin' up here, kid," but his disapproval could be almost palpable. It must have been a familial talent, because Mom was like that too. Didn't hafta say a word, but you knew, absolutely knew, without a doubt that they were disappointed in you. And you had best t' fix it!!

Like I said, in later years, life pressed down on him like a stone, and it took its toll. So, in a way, I know that, for him, death is probably a sweet release from it all. And I guess a huge part of my sadness today is that I didn't say "Thank you" enough. I really try not to live in regret as a general rule for life, but that is something I can say that I do regret. The time to have said all the things I should have has passed with him. I have long missed the Uncle Al who played such a role in my becoming who I am. Now I mourn the loss of the opportunity to let him know that I appreciate him for that.

So today, I imagine the following scene in Heaven. It's the kitchen at my Gramma's. Mom's fixing Gramma's hair, there's a roast with carrots and potatoes in the oven, sweet tea chilling in the fridge, homemade icecream in the freezer and Uncle Al playing guitar and singing while Mom and Gramma gossip about the family and people in church. It's a scene that played out plenty of times in real life, and dammit, I wish I could have it one last time.

I Better Never Hear "I Can't" from My Son....

I came across this story on another blog I follow. This young lady has been homeless all her life. And yet somehow managed to keep herself on track, graduate high school, and not only be accepted at some of the top universities in the nation (most of the Ivy League schools, matter of fact), but earned herself a FULL RIDE at Harvard. So the next time I hear Eli telling me he can't do something.....

KA-POW!!

I'mma whip out this story and tell him "ION'T WANNA HEAR IT!! Now get that homework done and clean your room.... and while you're at it, you best be praising the Lord you got it so good!"

Thanks for the inspiration, Khadijah Williams! Read the story on the link or go to the LA Times online and check it out.