Gobbledy Gobbledy

My birthday whizzed by like a bullet. Halloween whooshed by like a rocket. In my crystal ball, I see dry turkey in my future.

Flashback: It’s Thanksgiving and I’m gnawing on a turkey leg as family members gab ear loads of gossip. The children, not mine, insist they’re not hungry. Persistently, the children-once again not mine-like a broken record whine and plea to play in their room. The parents rebut by threatening them with no dessert. I continue to stuff my face with seconds and thirds until my pants begin to cut off blood circulation past my waistline and that’s when the tryptophan kicks in. By that time, I’m golden. The tryptophan wheels me into a deep coma on the floor of the living room. Meanwhile, the males slouch with arms crossed anesthetized by a bunch of men in tight pants tossing a ball on the television. Suddenly, my deep slumber is disturbed by the covey of rowdy Neanderthals. Ugh, of course, touchdown…



Please don’t misconstrue my perception of my family and the holidays. Indeed, I absolutely love my family, but I need some quiet time. We’re heading to Glen Allen. We’ve rented a charming house with a heated pool off some beautiful creek in Sonoma. Another couple will be joining us. Undoubtedly, I am delighted to orchestrate a meal for four. In truth, I am giddy about the whole idea. This year I can let the tryptophan do its deed as I take a dip in the heated pool and relax to the sounds of the water rushing down the creek.

Lesson: Once Grasshopper discovers that there is not only one route to Shaolin Temple than he will discover self acceptance.