Counting Our Blessings

It’s that time of the year. Thanksgiving. A time we remember our family traditions and count our blessings. Personally, my life has been blessed in so many ways. I love my family and they love me. I have two adorable puppies I can never seem to get enough of. I have great friends. I’m healthy. I love my job as a writer. I have a nice warm house to go home to. The list goes on and on. Keep reading.

Thanksgiving is the day of the year we not only stuff the turkey, but we get to stuff our faces—and do it without feeling an ounce of guilt! What a blessing. How many Thanksgiving dinners have you gobbled down until you had to unsnap the top button on your pants to make room for one last piece of pumpkin pie? I figured out years ago I was better off wearing stretch pants on Turkey Day. Stretch pants, another blessing.

Who knew leaving the dinner table after eating until you turned green and were on the verge of hurling, could be so dangerous? I can’t count the number of near-missed concussions and bruises I’ve suffered from dropping to the floor and rolling to the nearest available couch or bed. Lord knows I couldn’t walk upright. Maybe this year I’ll try surrounding the table with couches or mattresses. No more drop and roll. Yep. Add always thinking of ways to better your situation to the list of blessings.

Seriously, the real blessings in my life have always been my family. As a child, my family always started Thanksgiving Day off by watching the parades. My dad was a big fan of waking us kids up at the butt-crack of dawn to insure we had plenty of time to eat breakfast before the Macy’s Parade started. After watching decorated floats and oversized balloons until we were cross-eyed and blind, Momma usually had the turkey feast on the table and we’d begin to engorge our little tummies. Turkey and stuffing, home-made egg noodles, mashed potatoes, five cup salad, green bean casserole, and best of all Momma’s pumpkin pie. It was a lot of food and sadly, I know I’m leaving out a few dishes!

Like any all-American family, we were back in front of the television and cheering on Dad’s favorite football teams. In reality Momma would rather have caught up on her soap operas and my siblings and I would’ve preferred cartoons. But, my dad was all about sports, so God help the person who tried to turn the channel. The man could be snoring so loud the windows rattled, but if anyone touched the dial, or later on the remote, he was upright and asking you if risking your life was really worth it. We all thanked the electronic wizards the day they invented the DVR, another blessing.

After an afternoon of dozing on and off over football, it was time to dig in to the left-overs. Then we were off for more football. How many teams can possibly play on one given day? Still, my family had spent the whole day together, many years never changing out of our pajamas.

MY TRUE BLESSINGS

The funny thing is, as an adult, I find I want to spend my holidays pretty much the same way my parents spent theirs. When my kids were little, we watched the same parades I watched with my dad. I’ve even picked a few football teams to root for over the years. I still cook Momma’s famous egg noodles and pumpkin pie. Of course they are never as good as hers, but the kids complain if I don’t’ make them! Although they’ve been gone several years, it’s like my parents are with me when I practice the Thanksgiving traditions they taught me. Memories=more blessings.

I’m hoping when the time comes my husband and I are no longer on this Earth, my children, and possibly their children, will continue to spend the special day in a similar way. I know they’ll add a few of their own tweaks here and there, but as long as they keep a little bit of me in their celebrations, I’ll always be with them. What a blessing to be remembered! 

And at the end of day, who could ask for more?

In the comments below, please share any Thanksgiving traditions you practice. And share some of your blessings with us.

My First Hero

Seven years ago today my very first, real-life hero passed away. My father.

As a child I always knew I would be safe as long as my dad was around. He was big and strong, and could do all kinds of things mere mortals couldn’t. Yep. I knew bad people and boogeymen didn’t mess with me or my daddy would take them down. He was my protector.

Like all good dads, mine had no fear. He served in the US Navy, and when he returned to civilian life, he signed on with our city’s fire department. He could check beneath a dark bed for monsters, or stomp creepy, crawly bugs without hesitation. Ah yes, a fearless man of action!

My father never gave up hope. The day Daddy’s doctor came into his hospital room and told him to get his affairs in order, my father shook the man’s hand, went home, and got busy looking for a way to beat the odds. He did. His six month expiration date turned into sixteen years. I’d say he beat the hell out of the inoperable lung cancer that dared to threaten him.

He was a man of faith. Dad began his fight against cancer by reading the Bible from the beginning to the end. He rarely missed church and drew so much strength from his religious beliefs. Maybe it was his back-up plan in case things didn’t work out.

My father loved his family. He made my momma a happy woman. There was lots of laughter in our house. He took care of her when she became ill and always said God let him survive his illness so he’d be there for Momma. Later after she died, he remarried and I got to watch him work his magic on my step mom. I wasn’t around when he and Momma were courting. I found it fascinating to see him fall in love again.

My father had a big heart. Big hearts are easily broken. Men from his era didn’t cry, but I saw Daddy cry three times during my life. At my grandpa’s funeral, when my momma died, and at my wedding.

I was the first of three daughters he made the trip down the aisle with before handing us over to another man’s keeping. My husband had big shoes to fill and he has…but that’s another story. My father loved his children and grandchildren more than life itself. We loved him right back. My kids were very close to him and still tell Grandpa D stories.

I want the heroes in my stories to bigger than life like my dad was. I want them to be strong and protective. I want them to be fearless. I want them to have faith. And I want them to love with all their hearts. My poor heroes have a hard image to live up to. I believe all little girls who are lucky enough to have a father like mine, will like the heroes I create.

I miss you, Daddy.

Halloween

Trick-or-Treating Candy Vessels of Choice…

It’s that time of the year again: Halloween, when a child’s dreams of unlimited candy come true. A time when most parents’ nightmares involve trying to keep said child from devouring their great cache of candy all in one sitting. Last but not least, it’s a time when dentists across the country realize their daydream of acquiring a new sports car is merely a few dozen filled cavities away from becoming reality.

When I was a kid out trolling for the cornucopia of sweets, it was still safe to head out with a group of your friends prepared to beg for sugar until your pillow case became too full to carry. You had to make sure you confiscated your Momma’s best pillow case—none of the lower-numbered thread count stuff would cut it for a full night of chasing the candy dream. The weight of the treats could rip holes in a low quality vessel, or you could fall – doing equal damage to a subpar pillowcase.

And anyone with a half a brain knew you never, ever used a paper grocery bag to collect your goods. The flimsy brown sack would rip before hitting the half-full stage. I can’t tell you how many kids I saw on Halloween crying over spilled candy. Their only option was to fill their pockets, scoop as much as they could carry in their arms, and run home defeated. I speak from experience on this issue! The smart munchkins never looked back. Who wanted to see the vultures scooping up their hard-earned treats and dumping them in their sturdy pillow cases? Not to mention the total annihilation of a flimsy brown bag in the sad event of rain. At least in the rain no one would notice the tears streaming down your face.

Nowadays, Trick-or-Treating goblins can collect their cavity-provoking morsels in nice little plastic pumpkins (also flawed in my opinion). If one were to truly fill the cute little candy carrier to the brim, odds are the little black handles would break under the weight.

As a seasoned pro, my candy catcher of choice in these modern times is one of the nice canvas bags. I’m sure they’re patterned after the reliable pillow case bags of days gone by. They are available with spooky Halloween scenes, or swathed in cutesy pumpkins. Of course, design preferences should be left up to the Trick-or-Treaters. A canvas catch-all is sturdy and available in almost any size. My pick would be the ultimate, supersized bag with expandable sides for maximum carrying capacity.

I vowed at an early age to make my dentist a happy man. I believe he still putts around town in his cute little sports car.

For a chance to win your FREE “The Eyes Die Last” canvas tote, post a message in the comments section below telling me your favorite candy vessel for Trick-or-Treating!

Stay safe and enjoy your Halloween! 

Fall Memories...

    

This is my favorite time of the year. Fall marks the beginning of the holiday season. Labor Day, followed by Halloween, my birthday, (which I’m campaigning to make a legal holiday!), Thanksgiving, Christmas, and finally the New Year. The time flies by. Seems as soon as I store the barbeque pit, it’s time to make my New Year’s resolutions—which by the way, are usually broken by January 2nd.

    Life is busy, but we all need to take time to soak up the gifts fall offers…the gifts life offers. Let our surroundings trigger past memories, and create new ones. 

    I love how fall touches each and every one of my senses. These are some of my observations…

Touch. The wind feels crisper against my cheeks. The air I inhale is colder as I breathe it into my lungs. Scarves I begin wrapping around my neck are soft, and sometimes, a bit scratchy against my skin. I enjoy inching closer to the fireplace, letting the heat warm me on a cold night.

Smell. Who can deny the wonderful smell of a bon fire? Hot dogs roasting to perfection. The sweet scent of toasted marshmallows. Or less appealing to some, the smell of leaves burning. Pumpkin pies baking in the oven at Thanksgiving, definitely a favorite.

Sound. Falling asleep at night to the rustle of the wind as it sends leaves helicoptering down to the ground, interrupted by the occasional thump of falling acorns. The crunch of walking through the fallen leaves, and echoes of the children’s squeals playing in them. The gear-shifting rumbles of buses carrying our precious cargo to school, and safely home again. The giggles of excited Trick or Treaters. The squawking cries and flapping of wings from migrating birds flying overhead.

Sights. Bursting colors of the leaves changing. Pumpkins, scarecrows, witches, ghosts, and all things scary, decorating homes and businesses. Yellow busses, cross guards, and flashing lights begin and end the school day. Apples ripened to perfection in a rainbow of color. The days turning dark earlier.

Tastes. Savoring hot chocolate and warm apple cider, one slow sip at a time. Toasted-to-perfection marshmallows. Roasted hot dogs, skins bursting at the seams with flavorful juices. The yumminess of Halloween candy you’ve managed to sneak from your child’s treat bag. Carmel apples. Thanksgiving feasts. And an extra for lucky me? Birthday cake. Need I continue? I’ve gained a pound just thinking about fall foods.

So many memories are engrained in our senses. A single touch, a smell, a sound, a sight, or a taste can easily spark a recollection. Good or bad, the memories are pieces of life that molds us into who we are.

Some of my fondest fall memories?

Triggered by touch. Running through the school yard, arms stretched outward, my throat burning from the cool air I’ve sucked in. Momma’s gentle touch as she wrapped me up warm before sending me out to play. Snuggling with hubby’s arms around me in front of the fireplace, basking in the warmth. The feel of my children’s hugs before they scurried off to school.

Triggered by smell. Smokey bonfires beneath the stars and hayrides as a little girl, and enjoying them again as an adult with my daughters. Falling asleep with the attic fan sucking in the scent of leaves burning through open windows.

Triggered by sound. The laughter from my girls hiding in, and rolling through, the crispy fallen leaves at our favorite neighborhood park. My youngest daughter crying as I dropped her off on her first day of school. Okay, that may have been me sniffling.

 

Triggered by sight. Sitting on my back porch, awestruck by the beauty of the flaming oranges, reds, and yellows of the changing trees surrounding me. Wishing they could stay those colors year-round. Driving my girls through the neighborhoods in search of the best Halloween decorations. Our house won the contest every year.

Triggered by taste. I can’t bite into a piece of pumpkin pie without thinking of my mother. She was, without doubt, the world’s best maker of pumpkin pie. And every time I devour my first handful of candy corn, I remember how hard it is to lose the extra pounds I’m going to gain throughout the fall. But it never stops me from indulging.

As you can see, my memories of falls gone by are mostly good ones, and I love when one of my senses triggers them to life. I find peace and comfort in them. I hope when the fall triggers your senses to remember, you find the same peace and comfort.

At the end of the day, it’s what we all deserve.

Share a special memory triggered by something you touch, smell, hear, see, or taste in the fall.

All comments made enter you in a chance to win a copy of my new release, Resolutions.

Fall Memories