Living the Leftovers

After decades of delightfully overstuffed Thanksgivings spent baking, cooking and cleaning, followed by pre-dawn combat shopping on Black Friday, today is new day. 

No turkey and fixings yesterday.  No swarming masses wandering through the kitchen, blithely lifting samples and moaning.  No parades or football games blaring in the background. 

For the fun of it, throughout the day I leisurely baked a loaf of bread and a couple potatoes for stuffing,  made a small apple crisp and steamed some asparagus, before throwing in a marinated beef tenderloin roast as an early evening meal for two. 

I enjoyed numerous turkey-rescue cell phone clinics with my Phoenix son who’s bird didn’t thaw in time.  A simple “Happy, happy Thanksgiving” text from my traveling daughter made me smile, inside-out.  I sat down in an Austin dining room, via my Droid X, with my first-born twin as he thanked another mother for including him in their feast.  My darling red-headed son who lives locally dropped by for kisses, hugs, leftovers and a laughing walk down memory lane. I played at some internet shopping and online Scrabble, and then wandered to bed sometime after midnight. I slept indignantly late this morning, long after mad merchants flung open their doors and cash registers to bloated, sleepless bargain hunters.  Been there.  Done that.  Today I am sleepy and full…..with thankful memories.

I will eventually shower and dress before taking a precious package to UPS for shipping to my great-nephew, Coleman, whom I’ve never met.  It’s not a Christmas package, but a thanksgiving gift.  The little box holds a cherished memory; a small, hand molded clay challis with his great-grandpa’s name scribed on the bottom.  Running John, as he is fondly remembered by his heirs, won the treasure in one of his many 10K races, somewhere in Arizona.  He is also remembered for his giant heart, gentle manner and humble nature.

Dad was an avid runner. Beginning his trek in his 50’s when most choose to slow down, he completed many 10Ks, half-marathons and full marathons before his shoes wore out; his shoes, but never his soul.

Coleman runs in his great-grandpas footsteps, though he never had the opportunity to train at his side.  He is thankful to run with the stories passed to him by his family.  For a school assignment on an ancestor who influenced his life, he is preparing to share his running heritage with his classmates.  The humble trophy will bring memories to life and Dad's spirit will stand proud and smiling beside his great-grandson as he passes the baton.

Thanksgiving is a condition of the heart.  It’s a timeless tradition of remembering the price and preciousness of the past, celebrating what has been given, and endeavoring to make a brighter tomorrow.  It's the living leftovers.