Two years ago, the day before Thanksgiving, my fiftyish, driveway-sharing neighbor and I pulled in at the same time. He began unloading a trunkful of groceries plus a few suitcases. I gathered my blood pressure medication refill and a Panera Bread to-go sandwich from the front seat.
“Hey, how are you?” he asked as I closed my car door. A woman I had never seen came out of his condo and grabbed a grocery bag. She didn’t speak to me nor did my neighbor introduce her.
“I’m fine. You?” Our usual, neighbors-not-friends-barely-acquaintances exchange as I sifted through my key chain for the door key.
“Do you like turkey?” He came around my car.
“Yes.”
“Well, we have all this food, and it’s just my girlfriend and me.”
Uh-oh. He’s gonna ask me to join them for Thanksgiving dinner. I began formulating a tactful, negative response in my head.
“Can we bring you a plate?” he asked.
I am not that woman.
I am not a shut-in, incapable of social interaction or feeding myself. I am that woman who lives alone. Happily. Gratefully. Intentionally. Retired. Divorced with two grown children who live hundreds of miles away.
“That is so kind of you,” I responded to my generous neighbor on Thanksgiving Eve. “But I have plans.”
Those plans included spending Thanksgiving Day alone. Peaceful. Stress free. Talking with my kids by phone. No turkey. No cranberries. Followed by a Friday spent with my best friend, Ig. We started the day with breakfast in Shelbyville, our hometown. The man at the next table smiled each time I looked up from my pancakes and coffee. Later, while antiquing in Bell Buckle, we repeatedly ran into and interacted with an attractive man out shopping with two teenaged boys.
“That guy’s hitting on you,” Ig whispered as we left one shop.
“I know,” I responded.
I am that woman.
I spent last Thanksgiving with new family. Bri, Mary Pat and Conor. At their picturesque farm near Athens, Georgia.
I must digress to explain how these lovely people came into my life. Conor is now my son-in-law. He and my son, Mac, married just last month in a spectacular ceremony at the Atlanta Botanical Garden where Conor’s mother is the President and CEO.
I first met Conor’s parents in October 2023. At a delicious Atlanta restaurant. The day before Mac’s and Connor’s engagement party. With my daughter and son-in-law, Beth and Jerry. And, of course, Mac and Conor. Once we got initial introductions and verification that we were non-Trumpers out of the way, the seven of us gathered around the table to learn more.
“Have you read ‘Lessons in Chemistry?’” Mary Pat asked.
“Yes. I loved it!” I responded.
“No,” from Beth who has a degree in biochemistry. “Mom keeps telling me I need to.”
“Six-Thirty,” I added. “My favorite character in the book.”
Mary Pat explained to everyone that Six-Thirty is a dog. Whom the protagonist, chemist Elizabeth Zott, found one night at her back door at 6:30 p.m.
Mary Pat’s next question was, “Do you know Margaret Renkl?”
“Not personally, but I read her,” I responded and explained to the table. “She has a column in The New York Times and has written a couple of books. Oh, and she lives in Nashville.”
“She gave a presentation at the garden,” Mary Pat said. I can’t remember if it was that day or the day before. “She has a new book out.”
Small world.
Over the course of the meal, I learned that I was giving a speech at the next day’s party. I was fine with it. I had already written, at least in my head, what I would say at the wedding reception. I’d just use it and come up with something else for the wedding.
I am that woman.
For Thanksgiving 2023, they welcomed me into their home where Bri’s prolific art was on full display. From his trademark papier-mâché fish sculptures to collage boxes. And outside, a Romani wagon! Which he constructed in their backyard during COVID isolation. It exudes his talent from its colorful exterior to every inch of its cozy interior palette, décor, and furnishings. Including a bunk for unique guest accommodations.
I was also embraced by their two canine family members, River and Hudson. Hudson and I bonded when he climbed into my lap on the deck where we humans enjoyed cocktails around the outdoor fireplace. It was still a bit chilly, so I wrapped him in my coat and a blanket. We kept each other toasty!
And on Thanksgiving Day, I met family friend, Dorothy. She and I immediately connected over our love for MSNBC and everything liberal.
My fondest memory of the holiday was when Mac, Conor and I introduced Mary Pat to the game “Heads Up.” We used the app on my phone. We played and laughed for hours. Bri, who chose to sit out the game, nevertheless enjoyed the laughter.
“You sound just like the laugh track on a television sit com,” he said after several of our outbursts. And we did.
I was and am so thankful for the hospitality and love shown me. And for the laughter. And for my Poise products.
I am that woman.
NOTE: I was invited back to Athens for this Thanksgiving. It was hard to turn down. But I have plans here in Tennessee. A 53rd high school reunion. Why 53rd? Our 50th graduation anniversary hit during the height of COVID. It took us three years to agree to a when-and-where. Plus, we were born in 1953. Sorta poetic. We’re losing friends at too fast a pace, and this may well be our last formal reunion. I feel the weight of that. I am that woman.
Not just like, I love it Debbie, especially the DIGRESSIONS.
XO
bt
I am reminded of Ruth 1:16, 17, which is read at so many weddings, but which is actually concerned with the aftermath of a couple of funerals. Ruth pledges her loyalty and faithfulness to Naomi, the mother of Ruth’s recently deceased husband. Ruth pledges to Naomi, inter alia, that “your people will be my people.”
I confess that I am instantly suspicious pf any message that begins by quoting Scripture. Those statements so often end with a condemnation of someone or something. Fortunately, I am one of those MSNBC liberals that Debbie mentions. I read into Debbie’s piece that Mac and Conor’s union, blessed of God, has begun the process of Conor’s people becoming Debbie’s people as well. I rejoice! She is that woman, and they are that family!