Rounding out the edges

For Thanksgiving this year, I went to Lake Jackson, Texas, tagging along with two friends of mine, Baylor grads who have adopted me since I moved to Galveston.

It was weird and different and strange for a plethora of reasons: it was my first Thanksgiving ever spent outside of the state of Illinois, it was my first Thanksgiving without a family member within smacking distance, my first Thanksgiving without my brother and sisters. We fried the Turkey. It was extremely nice and pleasant. I enjoyed myself immensely and was, haha, very thankful for the hospitality I enjoyed.

I'm 25 now. So this was my 26th Thanksgiving. Wow.

I overheard a lady the other day talking about how "this year Thanksgiving is just another day to me." I remember my head snapping back to look at her as if maybe the statement was just a figment of my overactive imagination. Thanksgiving, while yes, starting and ending with the sun just as any other day, could never be such in my eyes.

Thanksgiving is when my mom and at least 2 of her 4 sisters and all of their families, progeny, entourages and hangers-on make the twisty drive down my Grandma's grey gravel lane, skirting the pond and park by the garage. They hold their platters high and hug absent-mindedly as they dodge outdoor dogs whose behavior is only cared about around family gatherings.

I listen to my cousin Monica repeat the same gripe for the 20th year in a row about "who she has to knock off to get a seat at the grown-up table... she has two children for crap's sake." My cousin Zach usually practices his stand-up and button-pushing on us, centering on Steve, Monica's husband. It's pretty simple: get Steve to laugh, then Monica will be mad at him for encouraging Zach and Zach... is free. Go Zach Go.

Andee, not to be outdone invariable has one of her family get-together melt-downs. Epic, my friends. No one ever remembers what starts it all off. (Its always Zach's, Nick's or my fault.) We're usually too distracted by Andee's verbal flailings and accusations of abandonment when we should be staying out of her business in the first place. It nearly always ends up with her locking herself in the bathroom. Sweet Jesus, I miss her.

So yes, I missed all of that. I missed showing up with my parents and fighting for a seat on the couch. I missed doing dishes elbow-to-elbow with a cousin who also said something dumb. I missed being asked by my Great-Great-Great Aunt Dorethy (who tells the best stories) where my "seniorita" is? I moved to Texas. I guess I asked for it. I missed sitting at the kid's table.

It was a little strange sitting at the head of the only table at Thanksgiving, eating fried Turkey and corn-bread stuffing with pecans, being 1 of only 7 people, drinking fine wine and talking of trips to Australia's wine country and not the bowel movements of my brother's roommates. It was a little strange. But not bad.

I got a little perspective this year. I got to see how others live. I got to experience an "adult" Thanksgiving. The kind that people who don't have 3 brothers and sisters enjoy. I am thankful for that, not sad. Brian and Kristen cared enough about me to bring me into their homes and welcome me as their guest. These two people who, a month ago barely knew me from Adam. I am blessed for that.

I guess that's the great thing about perspective. It helps us to round out the edges. As I was telling my friend Charlotte, a broken heart stretches our boundaries and helps us appreciate how good it feels to have love.

The turkey tastes better when you've gone hungry.

A warm blanket feels better when you've been cold.

And being home feels the greatest when you've been a stranger in a strange land for months.

I can't help but wonder if maybe Paris Hilton wouldn't be such a vapid bitch if she had an understanding what it was like to be hungry and cold and lonely and tired but having to work anyway. She has no experience to help her see. When I think of how my hurts have help me appreciate my joys, and how my loves have helped me truly feel the depth and fidelity of my losses, I feel horrible for how meaningless everything must seem for her. No wonder she whores herself for attention, she's desperate for feeling.

I love how the world was constructed to teach. If we're willing to consider them, every little experience, from stop-light to chemo-therapy, can help us to better understand the "why's" and "what-for's." It's tiring, I know. But we feel for a reason, and we don't hurt without one. Don't worry about the reason. Just wonder why.

If life is a game. Play the 48, enjoy the orange slices Jimmy's mom brought, and worry about the score later.