Each year, it seems more and more people are removing themselves from the simple joys regarding the holiday season.
Christmas advertising, sale stuff, even the canned music starts weeks before Halloween.
Some time in November, turkeys go on sale, followed closely by grown ups bragging on the amount of money they’re going to spend on gifts. I’m not sure if the amount spent gets you a bigger or better gift in return, or does the price of friendship follow the national debt?
Advertisements for the giganto sales on Friday are a special treat for the weak side of my brain.
So many new toys, so little time to play with each one. Now that I appear older on the outside, most stores ignore or just keep a watchful eye on the old man playing in the toy aisle. Which is good; it’s very disruptive of my play time having to explain to some assistant to the assistant manager what I, and any number of kids, are doing, not to mention being asked to put everything back in its place and leave the toy aisle so “other kids can play, too.”
The week before the week of Thanksgiving I start remembering all the things I’m grateful for. Not the things I “should” be grateful for, but the teeny tiny tidbits of life that have shaped, molded and at the right time, smacked me into the person I’ve become.
What I’ve become is as much a mystery to me as it is to the “trained mental health professionals” that have expanded their horizons poking around in my upper gravy bowl only to walk away staring at test results mumbling about Freud and the joys of electro-shock therapy.
During this Thanksgiving week, start a personal/family tradition and be honestly grateful for the right reasons and be humble enough to tell the people responsible for what you are or what you may become “thanks for the help.”
Now for something completely different
The Division of Wildlife has discontinued their weekly fishing reports for the year.
I shall endeavor to pick up the slack: If you see open water, fish it.
Perhaps this will be the year the people doing the actual counting of our big-game herds will arrive at a number that’s somewhat plausible to all concerned.
One of the years I spent feeding Elk we were taught the “rule of thumb” method of counting. Hold up your thumb and cover a group of anything, now drop your thumb, and count how many you had covered. Quickly see how many thumbs it takes to cover the whole group, then multiply.
Not very effective for a serious total but close enough for figuring hay bales.
Today begins the official daddy count down to the twins, Ericca Francis and Eileen Catherine’s 40th birthday. On the remaining Mondays until Dec. 18, I shall bring forth stories their kids probably need to know.
Hey, you be careful out there.