Thanksgiving—The True Story

Who would have ever thought that when the President of the United States decided to pardon a Big Bird from becoming a dinner on a platter, that we’d get the greatest holiday of all? And isn’t it amazing that that Big Bird would grow up and go on to become the star of Sesame Street on (PBS), the Public Broadcasting Service.

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Thanksgiving indeed, especially for Big Bird!

It takes me back to when I was a boy. Let’s face it, coming from a family of twelve, and being told that the President of the United States was going to let a Big Bird go free at Thanksgiving time, would probably give any family that size cause for concern.

So thank god I didn’t come from a family of twelve!

Anyway, where else but in school can someone learn the true story behind the holidays? Certainly not on the E network, like “The E True Hollywood Story of Thanksgiving.” I think you’ll agree, learning about the holidays in school—and here—is likely to be a lot more fun.

I remember the first time I learned about Thanksgiving. There we were, me and my kindergarten classmates, being given a big sheet of paper to draw on. Our teacher was going to show us all, how our hands were really turkeys in disguise?

All we had to do was trace around our fingers—those were the feathers—and then around our thumb which would later become the head.

Huffintonpost.com

Huffintonpost.com

And viola…instant turkey!

I’ll never forget when we were given the paints for painting the turkey. Oh boy, no crayons! Not only did we paint the turkey, we proceeded to paint all our desk and tables too. Then we got down to sprinkling glitter on practically everything, but mostly the carpets.

That’s because glitter always makes every classroom look so magical. Ah…and I can still smell the glue.

Anyway, after that little malay we were told to eat our graham crackers and drink our warm milk—which had been sitting on the radiator for hours. Then our teacher instructed us to lay down for our nap.

I suspect she felt this would prevent her from pulling her hair out. After all, she did have a class of 20 five year old’s. So we had to whisper, and that’s when we all learned about the true story of Thanksgiving.

My friend, Billy, told us Thanksgiving really took off as a holiday when a family, known as the Pilgrim’s, moved over here from England by way of a Mayflower Moving Van—he said that they even got to buy a new Plymouth to drive. And they paid for it with beads! I wonder if that still works today?

Smith Miller, Toy Truck, Mayflower Moving Van

Smith Miller, Toy Truck, Mayflower Moving Van

He then went on to tell us how his grandfather used to have a Plymouth, and therefore must have been a member of the Pilgrim family too. His grandfather had mentioned once, something about how his Plymouth was a brand from the Dodge, Chrysler, Plymouth dealers from way back when.

Now, we were all a little skeptical that Billy’s grandfather could have ever been an original member of the Pilgrim family, since Billy’s last name wasn’t even Pilgrim. His true last name was Jones. Plus, we’d all seen Billy’s grandfather many times before, and not once had he ever worn all black clothes, even his hat and shoes were devoid of buckles.

But, when my friend, Sally, told us how she’d heard somewhere that the Pilgrim family was actually greeted by a tribe of Indian Givers when they arrived here in America, and that these Indian Givers were known to give turkeys out to every person who would buy a car from them, we figured Billy had to be telling us the truth.

Hey, everyone knows that only car dealers do stuff like that!

So, if any of what I have just told you about the origins of, Thanksgiving in America, is not true…may WordPress not let me write another word on this particular post!

 

 

 

 

 

Tis The Season To Nitpick

There was once a time when we didn’t seem to worry so much about every little thing. We didn’t always sweat the small stuff. It was more like, “Sticks and stones will break our bones but names will never hurt us.” Like ducks, we’d just kind of let the water roll off our backs and then moved on. Who cared if we weren’t always politically correct?

But, that’s all changed now. Goodness, we can’t even let sleeping dogs lie.

Not that my neighbors dog ever was much for barking the truth anyway. I can’t even remember the last time he repeatedly barked in order to alert the neighborhood that a dangerous intruder was nearby. Of late, he only barks (incessantly) to inform us of stray cats, wayward dogs, and old Mr. Jenkins somewhat questionable attire. Some watchdog!

But, I digress.

Today, we will nitpick anything to pieces, even when it comes to nitpicking lice out of our children’s hair. Not that I’d ever want to draw undue attention to the fact, that our barber suggested I may have done irreparable harm to my sons hair the last time he had head lice. But, he forgave me…sort of.

But, as I was saying; have we really become overly sensitive to everything as a society?

Take retailer, Target, for example. Last week they became a real topic for conversation when they introduced a new holiday sweater. The sweaters say, “OCD, and then directly underneath “Obsessive Christmas Disorder.” Cute. Not the sweater… it’s downright ugly! But, I thought the idea clever.

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twitter.com

Now I think most of us know what OCD really stands for, and obviously Target does, otherwise, they wouldn’t have counted on the general public immediately recognizing the play on Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. I know I did, saw the clever play on words and enjoyed the humor in it.

But, then I suffer from the problem and try not to take myself too seriously. But, then what do I know?

However, some mental health advocates, and more than a few consumer groups, apparently took offense to the whole thing. They pointed out how sufferer’s of the disorder would not see the humor in the sweaters and would be deeply offended by them. Their concern for us sufferer’s of OCD is admirable.

But, I think some of us can see the humor in our tics, and recognize no malice was intended.

And if that were not enough, last week offered us a second helping of overly sensitive people being critical of, Starbucks, and this years holiday coffee cups. The cups are simply red and green and lacking the usual christian symbols of the season. Like snowmen, flying reindeer, and Santa’s little helpers.

Yes, I could possibly understand Madison Avenue types being deeply offended by this horrid turn of events. What with the big money to be made by encouraging a more festive holiday season, this might be misconstrued as sacrilegious. Heaven forbid!

However, with so many more serious issues occurring in the world this holiday season, don’t you feel that the son of god—patient, tolerant, and understanding soul that he is—might not cut Starbucks just a little bit more slack this time around?

 

 

 

 

The Weary Writer Returns To His Blog

Ladyclever.com

Ladyclever.com

So here we are in the midst of November—better known as National Novel Writing Month—or as some writers like to affectionately call it, http://nanowrimo.org/. Not me of course, I have yet to master the art of speaking URL fluently.

Grammarly.com

Grammarly.com

Yet, there may still be other writers out there who no longer speak of the challenge with love and affection. These might be writers who now sense that feverishly trying to produce a 50,000 word novel by 11:59 on Tuesday November 30th, may be a challenge unworthy of real affection.

However, maybe some of them are excelling in producing language that would make a sailor blush. Nah!

But, some of these fine folks may be stressing out over having to finish their unfinished novel on time at the expense of sleep, a Thanksgiving family dinner, and an existing income called… a job. And it’s all in the name of imagination, creativity, and maybe in some cases… wishful financial independence.

And yet, I wish I could claim to be counted among these wretched writers and their perceived folly to produce that 50,000 word novel in one months time. Why you ask?

Well, you may have noticed—those of you who frequent this weird, wild, and wacky blog of mine, better known as the poor unfortunate souls called my followers who have ACCIDENTALLY been sucked into this swirling vortex of a black hole in the blogging world—that there has been a void here since Halloween.

Not because I chose to attempt the 50,000 word masterpiece. Oh no, I truly wished I had. No, but because I had to go out of town and forage for real money. Oddly enough, for some strange reason that didn’t include me making money by writing in my blog. Which, as you may know, has still failed to put me on the Forbes 500 list.

But hey, I’m back from Los Angeles now and with a nasty head cold to prove it, which has left me in a fog. This has left me consuming large quantities of chicken noodle soup, NyQuil, and forcing my wife into singing to me, “Soft Kitty, Warm Kitty ” all the while rubbing Vick’s vapor Rub on my chest. This in an effort to help me recover so that I might rejoin the human race.

Viralfactory.com

Viralfactory.com

Just ask, Sandi, or is it, Sarah, and Mike, or is it, George? She/they vaguely know all about it.

I suspect the cold was courtesy of the airlines and their lovely recycled air. But, I’m having little problem trying to prove that. So that big lawsuit I was planning to file against them? I guess it’s going to have to wait—at least until there’s a cure for the common cold.

I realize this revelation about my recent whereabouts comes as little more than back page news to the John Grisham’s and Mary Higgins Clark’s of the larger narcissistic blogging community—usually located somewhere near the center of the WordPress hurricane of attention.

You know, where Freshly Pressed is located.

But, that’s no doubt due to they’re being too self-absorbed with their own UNPAID writing on their own blogs—unlike you kind folks, who at least take time out of your busy schedule to read mine, and other friends blogs. Makes you wonder what compels those pompous writing windbags to ignore the rest of us, doesn’t it?

This could not possibly be because they erroneously believe that their own blogs feature superior writing to that of our own, surely not. Otherwise, they’d be admitting that they see us as less than serious writers, which would explain why they never come to visit our blogs.

funny-bathroom-artNaturally, such diluted reasoning would only lend itself to the idea, that they couldn’t possibly be bothered with looking at our blogs, as nothing more than exploits consisting of grocery list, love notes to our soul mates, and scribblers of fine graffiti on inner bathroom stalls.

Oh come on, where else would I write?

Anyway, it’s nice to be missed, and I’ve missed you all too. That’s why I’ve been slowly catching up on what you’ve all wrote, and not because of some failed attempt at writing a 50,000 page novel, or desperately trying to compose a Freshly Pressed Post because I see you as unworthy writers of my (currently) comatose attention.

No, I’ve just been sick and tired of having to go earn money, that’s all. A necessary evil, to be sure.