I've mused for some time on the meaning, at least to me, of Thanksgiving. I hate the staid idea that it is the whole Indian and Pilgrim thing. I hate the idea that it ushers in the official beginning of shopping season. I am not sure I like the idea that it means winter is 'here'. I know for college students it heralds finals and winter break.
I spent the weekend with my husband's aunt, aged 92. Martha is still cognizant of what is around her, who her friends are, who visited last week, and how she feels about the current president.
She is at a time in her life where she is supposed to be making plans to die: when, where, and even how to dispose of her worldly goods. Instead, Martha made plans for dinner with friends, what to buy for x-mas, and decided not to give anything to her nephew when she dies. "He's a collector, I've seen your house, you don't need anything else." She's right, we don't.
I looked at the woman who once had a strong frame and constitution, the woman who told off color jokes all night, the woman who decorated her living room so there was plenty of room to dance in it. It made me realize, she is the embodiment of what I want to be when I grow up.
It is time for me to think about moving the sofa - getting rid of the extra chairs, and putting a stereo in the living room. If she can dance - why can't I?
