Taming Thanksgiving

I poured four cups of coffee into a giant mug from the hospital before heading to Perfect Image Salon this morning. A cut with highlights doesn't normally make my holiday list but with my son's wedding two weeks away, a trip across town was priority.

Heavy eyelids reminded me that last weekend's activity is still taking a toll, leaving me less chatty than normal. But when conversation turned to holiday plans, I tuned in as another patron remarked, "I just can't get it all together. I'm too stressed. My to do list is too long."

A faint smile turned the corners of my lips. While I empathized with her state of mind, for the first time in years, I relished inner calm on Turkey Eve. A calm that could even be described as quiet joy. When Anita, my hairdresser, asked me about our family plans, my stomach didn't tighten. My nerves didn't tense.

And it's not because life is tidy and together. It's almost 11 pm and I'm still trying to capture morning thoughts. Nathan's rearranging furniture one floor above while laundry spins in the dryer. Glorified hotdogs filled our dinner plates. And frozen rolls will adorn our Thanksgiving table tomorrow.

Holiday glamour doesn't exude from this abode. But in the midst of it all, I've finally accepted the me that I am.

It's OK that I won't be cooking a big meal tomorrow but rather enjoying a spread created by many others. It's OK that I can't get up at 4 am and shop with the masses on Black Friday. It's OK that I purchase store bought cookies and gift cards. And will sleep more than most once the hubbub dies down.

It's OK that I must live simply when the world spins crazy and the month cries, "Celebrate."

It took me years to accept the limits. To embrace them with calm. To not feel less than and unworthy because I can't accomplish what others can.

But after three surgeries this year, and three days of walking with a tennis shoe on each foot for the first time in eight years, I'm just grateful to be moving forward. Slowly. At a different pace. More at peace in the slow lane than before.

Lily, my mom's visiting puppy, is snoring beside me, reminding me I must go to bed. Thankful. At rest. Ready for family and food served on paper plates.

Happy Thanksgiving.