Search

clcouch123

I talk you talk we'll talk

Open Search
Tag

thanksgiving

Romeros

Romeros

(the caravan in Tijuana)

 

Pilgrims all

Seeking a thanksgiving

For food

For safety for the family

A chance to work

(work hard)

A chance not to hurt, sicken, and die

So easily

At home

 

Pilgrims for

Thanksgiving

Imagine that

 

They have come so far

Probably, we won’t respect that

What they went through to

Be so near

 

Will we let them in

 

From a land of light

Waiting in the dark

From a land in darkness

Waiting for the light

 

Will we let them in

Will we let us in

 

C L Couch

 

 

By IDS.photos from Tiverton, UK – Door to private chapel, Vicars Close, Wells, CC BY-SA 2.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=25739058

 

1

Borne in the USA

Borne in the USA

(Thanksgiving Day 2017)

 

Those who can, eat too much

Those who can’t are often fed as well

There are parades that

Honor stores and industry celebrities

Though most of our parades are

Done that way

 

A magazine editor wrote

President Lincoln

Suggesting a holiday—

This was during the war when a respite

And a time for thanks would welcome relief

To all the tragedy

FDR secured it for the nation

 

We watch football, formed when

Athletes from Canada comprised a new event

With Harvard students

Canada has Thanksgiving Day at a different

Time

I hope other cultures have it, too

Maybe you will tell me, and

 

In the mean time I’ll say thank you to you, mindful of

Respective situations

 

For you give me a reason

 

C L Couch

 

 

(photograph from Flickr)

 

0

Psalm 16, a song of (USA) Thanksgiving (Day)

Psalm 16
a song of (USA) Thanksgiving (Day)

The Canadians had their day already.
I wonder if that’s because they’re
more easily, readily thankful.

In the USA, there’s so much to
be thankful for. I grew up in
Pittsburgh, and I like returning
there. Pittsburghers tend to
speak their minds, and their
minds are good. (Their driving’s
better, too.)

I have family. The five of us with
spouses, children of the new
generation, and pets (old, new). We
are scattered, which is sad, though
in our ways we keep in touch.

Friends I have, a small circle. And
I have made it smaller. Not the
happier of moves. But the friends
I have I cherish. They are good
for me, so good. They circle out
in nearness, which is the sense of
those we know and how and when.

I live alone and often feel the
peace of that. (I first typed pace
for peace, and I enjoy that too.)
I sleep badly, which means I have
hours of the day to be awake
and doing such as this. Would
someone else put up with that?

Hannah, my cat of nineteen
years. She is gone now, and
eighteen years were pretty good.
Then she faded fast. Not bad,
all in all. She was the queen and
I her knave. She ruled in blessed
benevolence, scolding me for what
is apt within the catly-noble
mind (which means daily
reprimand for not mind-reading
every whim). Still good, good-humored
company. Now a loss, though better
she go first. She awaits me on the other
side, ready to scold me what else I
missed in mortal time.

Mostly. I have you. Lord, I
know you love me anyway and
always. You love me in darkness
and in light. I am perpetually
astounded. And, yes,

thankful for this, all this, the
plenty that you give.

Thank you, Lord—Love, me

0

Writing Prompt [response]: Do you think that it is important to share? Describe in detail another way for you and others to share–to give to people around you.

“there are ways that others need our presences, too”

“in reality, we throw gold mines into the trash”

by Jacki Kellum

Do you think that it is important to share? Describe in detail another way for you and others to share–to give to people around you.

Presence as Presents

by C L Couch

On this Thanksgiving, I won’t be with family. I’ll be dining with neighbor friends. And I’ll be cat-sitting for other friends who will be away enjoying a family reunion of sorts.

I’ll be bringing nothing to my own activities except myself, my choice, and time. I will feed the cats then visit with them, and they will ignore me. I will sit with my neighbors, enjoying the company of children and of parents. Then I will go home, alone.

When others do this—providing nothing but themselves—I call this the ministry of presence. (So do others, too.) When I used to work with youth, I surprised my ignorance of talent with an asset of simply being there. I didn’t what to say to youth, then discovered that wasn’t the important part. The important part was reliable company. Youth needed to know that someone, ideally someone without an agenda, would be there this time and probably the next.

So that’s how I share. And I imagine how anyone can. I will say that I’m a trained and active listener, which helps in interaction of any kind—even with indifferent cats. But if anyone shows up without self-preoccupation and then maybe shows up the next time. Well, that’s sharing. That’s even ministry.

Yes, I guess it means going beyond merely eating food and watching the game. But not much more. Talk with those, a little, who are there. More importantly, listen to what anyone has to say.

So Happy Thanksgiving to the relatively inert, as I will be. Happy presence to all. And, to all, a could night.

(image credit, http://www.usb-resources.org from Google Images)

5

Writing Prompt: Describe your worst ever Thanksgiving meal.

while wrestling with recall, it turns out what should have been the worst day turned out not so bad–a terrible time, a moment of grace

Cathartic Thanksgiving Day

My worst Thanksgiving ever. Hmm, I can’t recall. Not that Thanksgivings were always grand. But they tended to be good. The years my mom was dying from cancer. I can’t imagine those Thanksgivings were good. I was trying to visit her in the hospital each day or taking care of her when home, trying to take care of the house, trying to work a job across the city.

But I think for the holidays my siblings came to town, and I had a holiday of sorts unto myself. I didn’t cook or do much of anything except sit still. And Thanksgiving Day was peaceful. Same thing at Christmas.

I probably felt tired and numb at heart. The constant pace of covering everything increasingly took its toll by coring out my spirit of enthusiasm, which I then learned to manufacture. I felt bound to provide for my mother and others, though more and more I felt little else. But it seems that in my memory of mind (though I wouldn’t trust myself to be my own life’s reliable narrator), I can recall the long table in the dining room space, all around the table the folk that I’m related to. Lots of containers filled with many things, turkey in the center, carved. Glasses we could make sing by rubbing fingers around the rim, which always bothered someone (I can’t recall whom). A hum of conversation with a layer of laughter on the top, like whipped topping on the pie. (Always more than one actual pie.)

A good day in a miasma of sad and difficult time. An anodyne. Better yet, a day of grace.

There would have been two such Thanksgiving days while my mom was sick. The third year I think maybe there was little celebrate or nothing at all. And within a year or so, I moved out, as everyone had gone before over several years’ time. Leaving my dad who later left on his own, too.

C L Couch

image from http://www.kutkupret.com and Google Images

not dissimilar from our actual table; even the chandelier looks right, though our walls were white

now off to make a turkey sandwich

1

The Dessert that Never Was, a response to a Jacki K prompt

The Dessert that Never Was

a response to a Jacki K prompt

I think my favorite Thanksgiving dessert—and I believe my siblings will concur—is the dessert that never happened. While growing up in Pittsburgh, we had the annual Thanksgiving feast, of course. We also invited over the two women, mother and daughter, who lived next door. They were delightful company (all year), and for Thanksgiving always offered to bring the pumpkin pie.

One year they were late. Late enough to make me wonder if something had happened to the mother who, naturally enough, was on in years. But they both showed up, chagrined and with a story to tell. They had baked the pie, as they had each year, with everything whipped up by them and typically starting in the morning. As the day progressed and with that the pie in the oven, something smelled not right to them. And when they pulled out the pie and looked around their kitchen, they discovered what they forgot to put in the pie.

The pumpkin part.

So they baked another pie and brought it over late. So embarrassed were they, they only brought the good pie over. But I guess we made them feel at ease enough about making a mistake that anybody could make (well, not anybody) that they brought us over later to view a pumpkin pie without the pumpkin. As I recall, it was a round brown mess, sunken into the pie plate.

None of us is in that neighborhood now, and we are scattered some. But in our respective homes we tend to tell that story every year. And, while all of us were at one home and our neighbors continued coming over, we’d tell that story and laugh—together—every shared Thanksgiving day.

(Cue image of empty pie plate.)

C L Couch

for the image, http://www.wanelo.com (from Google Images)

3

Jacki K’s Free Writing Prompt—What Makes You Grateful?

A Free Writing Prompt for You: What makes you grateful? How do you say, “Thanks”?

from Jacki K

response and illustration

Is that free writing or freewriting? I’ll probably respond to both. And with.  Okay, I start.

Finding something lost makes me feel grateful. And I say thanks. To hear good news from family makes me feel grateful, too.

Longer time on earth—and I like being here, by the way—means loss. Someone dying is not about me, but I can’t help but take it personally. I think we’re supposed to, actually. After all, after death the issues are for those us remaining.

With losses that are severe—yes, loss of life but also loss or lessening of health and means and prospects—the small things to be thankful for mean more. I mean, I suppose losses in life could lead to bitterness, though as a lifestyle I try to move myself away from that. Maybe when I’m old and all alone, I’ll give in.

So lost keys, then. And that one piece of paper with information on it that I need. Sleeping a number of hours without obvious break. A day of color, whatever the season. Which would include a cardinal on the snow. Something new and interesting I see when I drive by. A new-to-me old building to admire or a community announcement that shows the town alive. Remembering to have grabbed exactly what I needed on my way outside the door.

There are many things. Imagine yours.

I do say thank-you and perform small courtesies in kind. Whatever the reaction is matters, though not so much. The joy is in the giving. And so is thankfulness. Small things to be thankful for are gifts and courtesies. I’m a better person when I know these and acknowledge them.

Aren’t we better people for saying and receiving thanks? Giving or receiving? Both? You’re welcome. And thank you.

C L Couch

for the image, kennethkeiferphotography.zenfolio.com (from Google Images)

4

Blog at WordPress.com.

Up ↑