It stops me in my tracks! Or, in my steps at Harrison Cove near Metropolitan Parkway where I reside in this plush, pastoral plot called Boat Town. About 25,000 others lives with me in Harrison Township, MI.
No turkeys noticed, however. (Well, maybe!)
Thanksgiving slows me right down. Ruffles my feathers, one may conclude.
It opens my heart.
Wide.
And, my hands and mind as well. It tugs at my heartstrings for truths and lessons learned more than half a century ago.
This moment we have to hold. Gently. Tenderly. Ready to let it go. To give it back to from where it first came.
It slips, however, through one's fingers like sand on the sea shore of Lake Huron running along Port Austin, Michigan, where I relish slippling away to walk at Jenks Park near my older brother, Bob's home.
These roots run deep.
Family relationships are many.
After all with twelve siblings each in merged families, dad was born there, while my mother sailed south to Detroit from Cheboygan, Michigan, story says. And, she told me. My parents were farmers. They knew how to work. And, taught the seven of us kids how to push a broom, or, clean a house, or can tomatoes, and, how to bake apple or pumpkin pie. And, cranberries cooked fresh.
They taught me that gratitude is a pure prayer. Unvarnished from one's deepest heart.
And so, with gray hair, I notice more now.
And, I'm more aware of how grateful I must be, want to be, choose to be.
Age has a way of making me grateful.
After all, yesterday is gone and done and black Friday may not unfold for my eyes and breath tomorrow.
Yet, I have this single moment to savor for a super mind and brain to notice and be attuned to each minute.
Yes, I notice more. Know that life is short. So . . . I overlook a lot. Or, try. I let the guy or gal, I want to call a jerk, go by. Most of the time.
I pause more. Pursue satisying and meaningful moments with family, friends, and, mostly acquaintances.
And, I tell a story. Try to illumine the dark days of November with Spring waiting for its revenge on snow and shortened days of light to lavish and play inside longer through the night enveloping us.
It's quite dark on Waterway Drive where I reside. In fact, it's pitch black at the peak of day's end.
Turkeys could hide here from the hand of Americans who prey upon them this day. They seem to long for the border. I would also. Their lives are threatened once more. Like many citizens without work, or roof, or food.
Multiple feelings flood me, however, as I refuse to let fear do my thinking, like that of those worried and wide-eyed turkeys. I still go out and feel the breeze blow up into my face as light no longer looms as long today.
On Jefferson toward Klix, along Lake St. Clair, a walk on the new wide path and brick sidewalk had me "light and lively" in the impending dark early last evening. Five o'clock brings with it a covering of black in the air. Shorter days, darker nights.
Woof, my 3-year old white Bichon "lights" up passers-by.
We greet.
We let the rat race pass.
Cars speeding. Horns honking. Patience running on reserve for some. Pollution pouring out.
Let them go. Just let them all go. They cannot rob my joy.
Walk, and praise the Provider. Connect with the Creator. Hear a leaf underfoot crack and crumble.
Honor roots and relationships, and faith for sure. Do a good deed daily. Bear good fruit. Blow a bubble also.
And, trust deepest dreams.
Follow my heart's beat and passion.
Be a drum major for justice. For God's sake. And, others around.
Go up or down the stream, the spillway near my home, and, learn to breath under water the whole life through.
Refuse to die before my time. Care for those no one else wants.
Get a grip, but not too tightly (on the golf club!). I'm allergic to them. I go to the gym.
Break bread often. Share it. Take a piece of the global pie. One piece and leave the bigger portion for neighbors across this land we inhabit this Thanksgiving Day. Work to pay the rent for occuping a piece of this plot for a while.
Do the turkey trot! Make fresh footprints in the sand, or the snow, for sure.
Shoot for the moon and land among the stars, at least.
Glow and go to exercise in the clubhouse where I live. Pump iron and muscle. Breathe.
In and out. Notice it.
Be wise as a serpent and gentle as a lamb as the greatest story every told suggests by way of Jesus, among other wise women and men.
Watch the turkey, or turkeys, as the case may be, crossing the road. Get a life. One beyond work. Have a hobby.
Cut the pie farly where ever I'm planted.
Think of someone who was still among us last Thanksgiving Day.
And, have an attitude of gratitude -- a pure prayer.
See what I mean about Thanksgiving? At least my experience of it.
See.
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