The Freelance Retort: Thankful Thanksgiving

I guess 6 months is a bit of a stretch between Retorts…at least public Retorts.

As Z will tell you—and anyone else in my close limited circle who has the misfortune on the rare occasion to “swap air” with me, which is frowned upon under the best of circumstances, but especially now in these, the most virulent of times—I’m prone to verbally retort to every other sentence that passes as conversation amongst friends.

Which is why my circle is close and limited in the first place.

Plus, the fact I usually don’t remember most people’s names, no matter how long they’ve been ensconced in said circle, doesn’t help.

Okay, stop all the eye rolling. Don't you recognize a bit of humorous hyperbole when you see it.

Of course, I remember all their names.

Just not the ones that belong to them specifically.

But why nitpick.

An asymptomatic super spreader by any other name is still a less than six-foot away social distancing threat.

Or, in my case, twenty feet—can’t be too careful—which renders most of my retorts unintelligible, anyway.

Not that distance matters when it comes to the lucidity quotient of my spoken witticism’s. Z says, I mumble and, for the most part, give the impression of someone choking on a peanut butter cup, which I think is so unfair.

I don’t even like peanut butter cups.

Milky Ways or Snickers, perhaps…but nothing with peanut butter, unless jelly’s attached, preferably on some sort of bread.

So, by now, you’re wondering…has it “really” only been six months? And wasn’t that a nice, peaceful six months…despite all the global doom and gloom.

It did seem to go fairly quickly.

Each day blending into the next.

Mondays morph into Thursdays with weekends signifying it’s only a couple of days until Monday…again.

And on and on it goes.

We were just rolling into Memorial Day, cautiosly preparing for an unknown summer, which turned out to be more than acceptable.

Sure, no vacations, this year, or dinners out. But the beaches were open and what more do you need in summer than a sixty-foot isolated circle of sand and a saltwater view.

I have to admit, pandemic precautions aside, our conditions weren’t totally monastic. There were a few, outside, summer, gatherings within the close limited circle, which mainly consisted of sitting on lawn chairs in various backyards in actual circles munching on individual bags of Doritos, while sipping on boiled bottles of beer.

More reminiscent of an intervention than a summertime BBQ but, hey, we took what we could get.

Pandemic Good times!

One of the drawbacks of the summer, at least according to Z, was my tendency to fill in my down time ordering frivolous, at least according to Z, items on-line.

Okay, maybe the stuffed herd of life-sized llamas was a touch over the top. I suppose the 3/4 size would have been sufficient.

But I am not returning the backyard skydiving machine, no matter how many times my neighbor complains about his crushed begonias.

I say, hey, if it takes your mind off the world going to New Jersey in a handbasket go for it.

Halloween came and went this year with nary a whimper or a goblin at our door. Even the Zombies Across the Street kept to themselves.

They said, they were afraid of getting sick, which you and I know is kind of ridiculous…but try explaining epidemiology to a Zombie.

And now, here we are, knocking on Thanksgiving’s door.

Sure, it’s been a long haul, this 2020, and we still have a ways to go before we can finally put it back in the box and kick it to the curb.

And while you might think it’s grea—er, a great hardship to forgo the big dinner with family and friends this year there’s always someone who’s situation is way worse than yours.

I know it’s trite and something to say when we’re feeling sorry for ourselves, but nonetheless it’s true. There’s always someone worse off than you…especially…nah…I’m not going to say it.

Thanksgiving is more a state of mind and memory than anything else. Underneath it’s really just a Thursday with lots of extra sides. And while you might not have to endure Uncle Ernie’s Drumstick trick, or Cousin Gladys losing her contact lens in the mash potatoes, this year…you’ll still be making memories no matter how many folks are missed around the table. And isn’t it all the memories of past Thanksgivings that make future Thanksgivings meaningful…even this one.

And while you might not think there’s much to be thankful for this year, despite the backyard skydiving machine and interventions, the fact you’re wherever you are, reading this says you’re way ahead of the game…even if your choice of reading material is a bit suspect.

So, go on and make some new Thanksgiving memories. Take lots of pictures…even with a festive face mask involved...especially with a festive face mask involved.

Just think of what the generations still to come will make of it all.

“Those people back in 2020 sure knew how to do Thanksgiving!”

Maybe it'll catch on and become a new tradition like those funky Pilgrim buckle shoes.

Thankful Thanksgiving memories. They all count and never fail to get better with age, just like Great Grandma Lucy.

Personally, I’m planning on making the most of it by assuming the roles of all of our most obnoxious family members, which Z says should be pretty easy for me…considering. Though she won’t say considering what.

Enjoy your turkey…even it’s not much more than a Big Chicken this year…especially if it’s not much more than a BIG Chicken this year.

Think of how annoying that story will be for countless Thanksgivings to come….

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