Who Cares What Nansi Thinks?

I've started this a half dozen times... only to scrap it and go to bed. Today I'm determined.

November is a difficult month for my family. On top of memories of Thanksgiving Nightmares of the past, it's also the month my dad died.

Dad's death is actually more impactful now than it was then. For me, his death came on the heels of a disastrous couple of years. I'd just gone through a divorce and remarried way too soon after. I had not been home since I'd remarried, and my first husband was from home. I was bringing a stranger into territory that belonged to my first husband and me. THAT was the hard part, believe it or not.

I come from a Christian family who feels absolutely assured of their final destination. Dad's passing was almost joyful. It was certainly peaceful. It was peaceful for most of us. I remember sitting in the waiting room with my sisters and my cousins, singing. We sang all of Dad's favorites, "Amazing Grace" "How Great Thou Art" and "It is Well With My Soul" And when the time came, we stood with Dad as his spirit left his body.

It wasn't until Mom went into the nursing home that she began to mourn my Dad's passing. She was sort of mad at him in the years just after his death. I don't blame her. My dad truly believed to the very depths of his soul, that he would not taste death. It's not that he thought he was special, he just was certain that Jesus would come back in his life time. And he lived like it. He didn't save. He didn't plan. He didn't buy life insurance. He didn't even buy credit life insurance. Mom had $80 to her name at the funeral. I'd have been pretty mad too, if I'd been left in such dire straights.

Mom's forgotten all of that. Blessedly, I think. She began to truly mourn him when she entered the nursing home -- 17 years after his passing.

And then there's Thanksgiving. I think we all have a "funny" story about the calamities that befell us on that day of the year. Like the year my dad decided it would be a good idea to baste the turkey with a mixture of orange juice concentrate and Tabasco sauce. Trust me, it was vile. Or the year Mom invited two families for dinner, and then canceled on Thanksgiving morning. Back then only Denny's was open on Thanksgiving Day.

The year after Dad died, Mom announced that SHE was cooking Thanksgiving Dinner and forbade any of us to help her. Oh my holy God. What a nightmare. There were pots and pans lining my kitchen floor. There were piles of vegetable peelings on newspaper all over the counter tops. (Excuse me, how hard is it to throw that stuff away???) And to add insult to injury, our kitchen faucet kept malfunctioning and spewing water all over the place.

The result of a life time of Thanksgiving chaos is stress free preparations and a flawless presentation when I cook. I plan and I plot. I clean and prepare and pre-cook. When I get up on Thanksgiving morning, all that's left to do is put the bird in the oven and prepare mashed potatoes. Everything else is done in advance. And when we sit down to dinner, the only dishes that need washing are the ones on the table. That's just as insane as the chaos, don't you think?

In recent years, the holiday has been even easier. We go to my mother-in-law's where everyone does something, and nobody does everything. Confidentially, I really miss cooking the dinner myself, but not enough to give up the time with my in-laws. I'm so blessed to have married into such a great family!

To end this post, I want to list the things I'm thankful for as it relates to my Mom--which is who this blog is all about.....

In No Particular Order I'm thankful....

-:- My mom got me hooked on reading

-:- My mom taught me how to dress well

-:- My mom taught me how to cook and bake

-:- My mom inspires me to excellence (in a "what not to wear" sort of way)

-:- My mom instilled in me an insatiable thirst for knowledge (she never accepted "I don't know" for an answer. She'd say "I didn't ask you if you knew...")

-:- Through her self-loathing my mother taught me self-love

A note about the final point... One of the most difficult things I deal with is my mother's sense of worthlessness. She mistrusts people who love and admire her in a Charlie Chaplin style. (He used to say, "any club that would have me, isn't worth joining") When I was growing up, I'd hear my mother berating herself for her weight or looks, and I'd think "If only she could see what a good looking woman she is, no matter what her size...." And I purposed in my heart to accept myself, no matter how old, or large I got. So mothers out there, step back and ask yourself "How am I impacting my daughter?" Please?