Disney – Page 6 – my ft.notes

Finding beautiful

I am not beautiful.

My sister is a beauty—small-boned, porcelain-complected, silk-haired. Then my sister and I joke that it’s my brother who got all the pretty. He’s taller and has that spark. The three of us do come from two fetching people.

I am not beautiful. (And don’t tell me I am—my dimples and lack of height get me by.)

I am not old, either, but lately age pops up—with no soft grace. It’s a single rod of steely gray in a sea of my brown (it’s still brown!) hair, a new spot, a tweaking hip.

Disney Digression: which way will I gray?

Age defies gravity, time and all the products that promise “firmer, younger, better.” Sometimes it’s alarming. Sometimes it’s sneaky. This week, it was clear and black and white.

Tucker was drawing and asked me to pose for him. “Look up and smile,” he said.

And he drew my face, with an unforgiving black marker. If it were a tube of mascara, it would be the “very black” black. He gave me big eyes, an even bigger nose and really great hair. He even got the flippant pieces that fly every which way just right. And then his honest hand drew three thick, parallel lines across my forehead. Crap, I thought.

“Whoa,” I said.

“What?” he said.

“Those lines are that big, huh?”

“Yeah.”

He felt guilty and launched into other try. This time, my forehead was line-free, but he drew in two deep lines from the outside of my nose down to the edge of my mouth. My hand went to that spot and traced the reality.

“Let me do another one,” he said, feeling awful.

“I love what you drew,” I lied. “You drew it right. Mommy earned those lines.”

I have. Emotion is physical. I feel with my face. I listen with my forehead. I think with my bottom lip in my teeth. I rub worry into my cheeks.

They say the eyes are the soul’s port of entry, but I say story is in the skin.

I didn’t use sunscreen as a sun-worshipping teen. I went too long without glasses. I go to bed late and wake up early. I frown a little and laugh a lot. I have proof.

I also have Case.

Case tells me every single day, sometimes several times a day, that I’m beautiful. Sometimes he’ll tell me in the morning, when I’m still in my pajamas, without a stitch on my face. Sometimes he’ll tell me when I’m fussing over a skillet and he’s scooching his stool into the kitchen to help me with dinner. Sometimes he’ll tell me when we’re singing or arguing in the car and we meet eyes in the mirror. He always tells me when I need to hear it. It’s another way he says “I love you.”

And I’m realizing that being beautiful is nothing about being beautiful.

It does not mean that I’ll quit clipping coupons for anti-aging serums or stop obsessing about my eyebrows. It doesn’t mean that I won’t be trying to squash dessert calories with push-ups or skimp on eating the super fruits that promise mini miracles.

It just means that this skin I’m in, the one I’ve never loved and occasionally regretted, is more lovely than ever. This same skin with age spots and history and purpose. Because it’s beautiful to someone.

Thursday Thanks. Helping #11.

Happy Thursday from my Thanksgiving Chair.

This week, I’m thankful for football season–the season of sausage balls, 7-layer dip and orange-on-purpose.

I’ve relinquished the remote, surrendered Saturdays (and Thursdays, Fridays and Sundays) and put in picks for the office pool. One of our college teams is winning. Our pro slate is clean. And I’m still drinking the Kool-Aid that is the collective hope of a brand new season. If this feeling were a flavor, it would be grape. Err. Orange.

I’m grateful for last-minute, late-afternoon drives over to Disney–just to catch Fantasmic. It’s always great to get there because the kids still squeal when they see the sign. But the car ride over is half the fun. Checking off landmarks, lobbying for the song you have to hear next, refereeing the two goobers in the backseat. And, just after you’re sure they’re going to maim each other, you bust them.

PSA: Disney is empty on Labor Day weekend. We had dinner at the Prime Time, which is usually impossible, we walked right on Star Tours twice. And we had front row seats for the show. PSA 2: With front row seats, you will get wet.

Today, I’m also thankful for a poem one of my best friends shared with me a couple decades ago. She knew my soul’s cargo then. So many times, when I’m lacking the words, I go back to these.

If you have to be sure, don’t write.

You’re up. What are you thankful for today? Nothing is too simple or small or obvious.

Table Topic Tuesday. 9/3.

Uh oh. Guess what day it is.

Anybody?

It’s Table Topic Tuesday.

Here’s the question:

Well, there’s no way I can pick one favorite. So, here are a few highlights.

I heard a football coach say once: If your feet touch the ground, you’re tall enough. I kinda could’ve kissed him.

Before he was my husband, Jeff said: I wanted you the second you ordered banana and pecan (pee-can) pancakes. I did kiss him.

And here are sage words for work–that I can’t always follow while I’m at work. You can take it literally: write on red wine, edit on coffee. I also read it this way: write on right brain, edit on left brain (if I only had a left brain). Or even: write in a creative cloudburst, edit in a bright quiet.

I have to include a few from the Disney persuasion, of course.

And I can’t choose my favorite part of scripture. But I do love this. Because every good and perfect gift is from above. And fear is just a lie.

And this one. Because yes.

My sweet friends played, too.

I love Lindsay‘s pick.

There’s something sad but very hopeful in this quote. Of all the people that smile at me during the day, how many of them actually feel happy? And how many times have I done that: faked an emotion I didn’t believe in? When I first read this I thought, “That’s so effing true.” We are our most honest selves when we’re alone — when no one is watching. If we can find that happiness when we’re not pressured to, we’ll have found something truly great.

And I’ll be pinning Lynda‘s favorite words, too.

“Judge not, lest you be judged.” (Matthew 7:1)

Yep…that’s probably the only quotation I can think of that could be considered a “favorite” of mine. It’s also one of the few quotes I could think of that a) I can recite from memory, b) I think worthy to use as an answer to a question like this, c) I hope makes people stop and think, and d) most importantly, that I try and live in my everyday life.

It’s such a simple statement. It doesn’t beat around the bush or take hours to decipher the meaning. There’s beauty in simplicity and there’s beauty and honesty in such a profound statement. I know for a fact that I do not have the life experience, the wisdom, or the self-assured attitude to believe I am more in the right than anyone else in any of my ideas or actions. That I can pass down judgements on those whom I don’t agree with or identify with.

But…were it only as easy to practice as it is to read or say. Oftentimes I start down the path of forming an opinion (mainly regarding something in the negative), and I will stop myself midway to remember, “Judge not, lest you be judged.” Do I want people to form the same types of opinions about me? Do I want them to hold a negative or incorrect view of something I did or said? I can guarantee you that I do not. I ultimately try and live my life viewing everyone and everything around me at face value. I don’t look for hidden meanings. I don’t believe people are something they’re not. I hope that everyone truly has good intentions in both word and deed.

Perhaps it’s why I’m so gullible. I believe everything and believe in everyone. Some people may think that naive, but I wouldn’t want to live in a world where I had to believe otherwise. Life just wouldn’t be as sweet. So try it out every now and then…quoting to yourself, “Judge not, lest you be judged.” Give people the break you would hope they give you, and believe they also have nothing but the best of intentions.

I know you have one, or five, favorite quotes. Tell me!

Thursday Thanks. Helping #10.

Happy Thursday, from my Thanksgiving Chair.

I always have a lot to be thankful for. But, this week, toothbrushes get an honorable mention. Hang with me. How many toothbrushes do you have in your house? We have 11, at least. And 3 of those are mine. I have my spinny, for the twice-a-day routine, a pink travel toothbrush with soft bristles. And I have a new one, still in the package, on standby. Jeff has at least two. The boys have two a piece in the downstairs bathroom so we can do a quick scrub before we dash out the door in the mornings (light sabers and Angry Birds). And they each have another upstairs for bedtime (Captain Rex and Darth Vader). It’s, like, an embarrassment of toothbrush riches.

I never thought twice about our household toothbrush count until I heard Pastor Juan Carlos Serrano share a message with our church on Saturday night. Pastor Juan lives and leads in Cuba and it took 4 years to arrange his visit here. He only speaks Spanish, so there was a translator with him. Their words, overlapping, overlaying, together delivering The Word? Nothing was lost in translation. He spoke so rich in stature and spirit that the entire room held a collective breath.

After the sermon, our Pastor Matthew told all of us that he’d taken Pastor Juan and his wife to Target. “For fun,” he said. They’d never experienced aisles of options. Pastor Matthew told us that the Serranos just get one toothbrush. So, the toothbrush aisle was overwhelming. I mean, you get to pick your brand and your bristle. You can go single or multi-pack. Manual or battery. Pink or blue. Or orange, red, purple, green, chartreuse. So many possibilities for dinky teeth scrubbers. And we have that many options for almost everything we touch.

I ~~know~~ hope you’ll all be brushing your teeth soon. Maybe you’ll notice your toothbrush when you do? And while I’m counting my toothbrush blessings tonight, all 3 of them, I’m also grateful for the 2 bottles of wine that I shared with my amazing parentals last night.

And for the 1 dreamy forkful of cronut I tasted this morning. Y’all. This fad is legit.

So, how about you? What indulgence are you thankful for this week?

Table Topic Tuesday. 8/27.

Hey, y’all. It’s Table Topic Tuesday.

And here’s today’s question:

When I was young, I wanted to be a ballerina. I started dance when I was just two. By the time I was in middle school, I was dancing in a ballet company and in a studio. Six days a week, my mom drove me to lessons. I loved the blonde wood floors, the echo of quick taps, the light drumming of toe shoes. I held the barre like I was holding everything. I know. It was a little intense. But the studio mirror was the only one I’d met that I didn’t mind looking in. I was a good dancer–a decent technician and a better performer. I was a flood of restless rhythms and choreography harnessed them, polished them and sometimes made them poetry.

Then, I started high school. I still loved dance–I was still a jazz-hands master–but I had peaked. And I hadn’t grown. My mom knew that I wasn’t tall enough to be a professional ballerina. Somewhere, I knew that too. But Mom loved me enough to say it out loud. I wrote a poem about the conversation when I was in college (judge accordingly).

TINY DANCER

It might as well have been

the red sea, no Moses in sight.

I sat tapping the toes of my pointe

shoes against the hardwood floor.

Mom & Grammy sat across from me

wearing identical looks and a perfume

with an oriental name–flowery, floating

light as a Japanese kite, my favorite smell.

“You’re beautiful, smart.”

“But you’ll never be an Amanda.”

Amanda was the company’s prima ballerina–

Coppelia, the Sugar Plum Fairy–with long

limbs and arches high as the Brooklyn Bridge.

I just hadn’t grown yet.

I had led the sea of lemonade across

the stage, tiny bourre’es against the hard black.

“You’d make a great cheerleader.”

I didn’t answer. Just pulled the bobby pins

from my bun and dropped them to the kitchen

table one by one.

I traded my port de bras for rah rah, cleared

a space in my closet for poms. I stuffed

blood-stained toe pads against the worn

wood, wound ribbon around the frayed

satin and placed the box on the top shelf.

Up there, I found a picture of Mom.

She wanted to be a Rockette.

She was sixteen, thin in her drill team

uniform, her legs looked longer in

the white boots that came up to mid-thigh,

her foot well above her 5’2 frame in

a perfect kick.

So, spoiler alert, I did not become a ballerina. Thank goodness. Because, in the background of ballet, I was always writing. There are stories scribbled in my elementary-school notebooks. I was co-editor of my high school paper, editor of my college paper, sure I was going to be a serious journalist, a newspaper woman. See, there are still restless rhythms in me and retelling other people’s stories harnessed that.

Then I fell into advertising by surprise, so I become a writer when I grew up. In writing, height doesn’t matter. All 4-feet-11-inches of me can always grow and never outgrow it. As long as I have pencil and paper and passion.

Plus, now I have more fun dancing than I ever have when Tucker and I have living-room Just Dance battle royales.

My friend Lindsay says:

I hate to reference a movie — and a teen movie at that — but Jessica’s graduation speech in one of the Twilight Saga movies pretty much nailed it. I went from wanting to be a Disney princess {and I got close in college when I interned in Magic Kingdom for six months} to a doctor to an astronaut to a volcanologist to I-have-no-idea-and-my-college-applications-are-due-next-week. Then my parents finally exhaled when I landed on Interior Designer. I watched every episode of Trading Spaces and Extreme Home Makeover. This is what I had to do! I traveled with this dream to college, but after one intro class, I realized it was not for me. I think what I really wanted to do was buy curtains and match them to bedspreads. Dreams die hard. Then new ones come about and they come out of nowhere. Enter: my current job. But i’m not giving up hope of one day ruling my own castle.

And Lynda says:

As sad as I am to say it, every little girl on the planet probably had the same ideas of what they wanted to be when they grew up as I did. The possibilities are endless, yet we still end up wanting the same things it seems. Until reality hits us. It did for me through several of my future occupation phases.

First, I wanted to be a veterinarian so I could work with animals…until I realized all of the unpleasantness associated with poor, sick kitties and puppies. Heartbreaking. Then I wanted to be a dolphin or killer whale trainer at Sea World so I could swim with them every day…until I realized that I hated science and was horrible at it. From there I went through my “adventuresome” Indiana Jones phase and wanted to be either an archaeologist or paleontologist…dusting off artifacts and old bones from a millennia ago. I completely blame my obsession with Jurassic Park for that little whim. But then I realized that lots of school would be involved, and I just couldn’t imagine an academic life.

Advertising was never a blip on the radar until high school, and surprisingly enough that little blip stayed with me at the back of my mind. After declaring “history” as a major when I entered college, I quickly changed it to Advertising and have stayed with it ever since. It’s funny how it all works out in the end…I feel fortunate to have found something I was passionate about and I suppose you could say something I wanted to be…when I grew up.

Your turn! I want to know. What did you want to be when you grew up?

Thursday Thanks. Helping #9.

Thursday snuck up on me, but it’s never too soon to climb up in my Thanksgiving Chair.

Here’s a quick dish of things I’m thankful for this week:

* Doc McStuffins No-Bake Muffins. Full disclosure. I saw the segment on Disney Junior. I thought they sounded ahhh-mazing. So, I spun it this way: the boys could help me make them and we’d share a fun snack. Case did help me put them together, but guess who’s eating her way through the entire tray solo? Anywho. Make them. (I used raspberry preserves. Walnuts instead of raisins. And I was a tad heavy-handed with the coconut.)

* A hubs who fills the second grader’s lunchbox–napkin to nummies to note. Because he’s much better at being on time than me. And because he loves doing it.

* Solid ear buds when there’s office construction. Worn-out playlists that never wear on me.

* Friends who leave surprise bananas on my desk.

* The man in our office building’s lobby store who had pistachios on the shelf at 3:04 pm yesterday.

* The car radio, with DJs and commercials, the soundtrack of my commute. Does anyone besides me still love driving old-school style?

So, in a nutshell, I’m grateful for food & music.

And these Disney Digression bits.

What about you? What are you thankful for today?

A letter to my boys

To my boys:

I may cry tomorrow. Who am I kidding? I’m crying right now.

Tomorrow means another new school year. And this year, both of you will wear official uniforms.

It’s not your fault I’m crying. It’s those collared shirts, dagnabbit. Because they make you look so sure and ready and grown. And that makes me proud and tickled and teary.

We’ll need routine tomorrow and I don’t wear routine well. I’ll be down to minutes, rushing me, rushing you, sighing and apologizing for it. And Tucker—you’ll just smile and say, “That’s okay, Mommy.” And Case—I’ll do one small something, inside-out your socks for you, and you’ll say, “You’re the best Mommy ever.”

We’ll drop you off tomorrow, with fresh supplies and the shiny smiles of a new start. We’ll chat with your teachers and hug you and hug you again. We’ll walk away from the classroom door and the tears that I hope I’ll hold until that moment will topple and spill. And Jeff will rub my back and say, “Oh, Wife” (even though he’s been expecting this).

I know it’s a beginning but, to me, that moment thuds like an ending. I worry that I’m missing too much, that I’ve let another whole year slip away, that maybe I’ve failed you too many times. It’s an ambivalent dance; I can physically feel time racing. And I’m wonderstruck at the amazing little people you are.

This moment will happen tomorrow and next year’s tomorrow. But I know tomorrow will begin another amazing year. So this is what I wish for you.

I hope you always walk into learning with the starry-eyed eagerness that brought you to today. I hope you read all the books you can touch. Devour them. Sip them. Share them. Read them again.

If it’s numbers you love, use them. Master them. I know that I’m awfully clumsy with them, but Dad can help. Or we can always call Pop.

Tuck—you can have all the paper and pencils you want. Draw whenever you can (just not when your teacher is talking). When your teacher is talking, listen with your eyes first, then your ears. Remember that there’s just one her and a lot of yous, so be gentle.

Case—I know I’ve spent hours, maybe months, telling you not to touch everything in reach. I hope I haven’t crippled your curiosity. Keep curious. Ask every question. When you’re allowed to explore, take your time. I promise to try and rush you less.

You’re sharing the year with a lot of kids. You won’t agree with each other all the time. But you can almost always find one piece of common ground with almost anyone—even if it’s as small as having the same favorite color, the same tooth fairy fee or the same disgust for peas. Find that one thing.

Eat your fruits and veggies first. But don’t let the lunch bell ring before you’ve had your treat.

Tucker—I get on to you for being a bossy sprocket, for parenting your little brother and antagonizing and swatting at him when you think I’m not looking. But, you should know, he sees you as his fierce protector, his comfort, his best bud who always gets an extra sticker or toy just for him. And so do I. You may meet other kids who need that kind of partner, kids who need a louder voice.

Case—your silly has no limit. From food-flinging to ear-ringing, I’ve never seen someone entertain so well with a single fork. You’re our live wire with a contagious sparkle. And you’re not happy until everyone else is. This year will be no different. I hope, one day, you understand what a gift that is.

I hope you two keep an open mind and open ears. But stay locked to what you know is right in your gut.

Ugly words are never cool or powerful or right.

You (still) will not get any new techie toys this year. And you will live.

I hope you pitch a thousand sillies—but never at anyone else’s expense.

It won’t be perfect, this year. There will be messes and oopses and flubs. But we’ll look for the good, the helpers, the magic.

Because you’re still 7 and 4. I want you to laugh the length of 7 and 4. Run the width of them. I want you to create, stretch, get dirty—and take your shoes off before you come inside. I want you to have the time, the year of your lives.

And, tomorrow, when you lug in those brand new book bags, I hope you also carry in the precious assurance that you are wonderfully, wonderfully made. And that your Daddy and I love you more than you’ll ever know.

Thursday Thanks. Helping #8.

It’s Thursday. And I’m happy to settle into my Thanksgiving Chair tonight.

I’m thankful for quite a lot–especially for being back home this Thursday. But I’m also grateful for the new things I see on the road. Like growing things.

Okay–my thumb is not green. The only house plants that have survived our home are the lucky bamboo. I’m pretty sure they’re only alive because of their fortunate name. And even though I love to eat local, fresh goodies, the idea of me tending to my own garden is quite contrary.

Still. I’ve always been a bit smitten with growing things. The needles of green that shove through cracks in concrete. The way wildflower seeds sprout from a cup of wet dirt on the kitchen counter, wispy as wrist hairs. Kudzu, dense as the ocean, climbing, choking anything in its way.

Growing things are easy to miss—just a blur as our hours scurry on.

I mean, who makes you stop to stare at trees? A shaman in Peru made me once. And my elementary school ALERT teacher, Dr. M., taught an entire unit on trees. We even had to hug one and sing to it. I’m so not kidding.

I’m not a tree hugger (that was a one-time thing), but I love the plants, the free, uncultivated, wild plants, that bloom with Fibonacci perfection.

And I love when nature—in the hands of imaginative humans—becomes arboreal art. So, I wanted to share a parade of pretty growing things I’m grateful I got to see in California last week. And it starts with these unruly beauties.

Hey. How'd he get in here? (Disney Digression) — Hey. How’d he get in here? (Disney Digression)

What about you? What are you thankful for today? Did you notice anything you usually don’t?

Table Topic Tuesday. 8/13.

Hello, folks. It’s Table Topic Tuesday time. And this week’s question is:

My answer depends on how I feel and who’s asking. My first favorite book go-to is Jane Austen’s Pride & Prejudice. I’ve loved it since the first time I opened it–from the first sentence. There’s the humor, the romance, the letters. And even though we’re far removed from that social structure, the characters are still so beautifully ambivalent, full and real.

The language in Zora Neale Hurston’s Their Eyes Were Watching God woke me up. I read most of that book sitting on my feet, ready to pounce, because I could not keep still. Toni Morrison’s Sula jostled me in the same way.

And I love re-reading C.S. Lewis’s Chronicles of Narnia to the boys. Peeling through each page and layer kindles more meaning than it ever did before.

Nonfiction? I’ve worn the pages thin in Anne Lamott’s Bird by Bird. Recently, I’ve read, re-read, read once more A.W. Tozer’s The Pursuit of God. If God has a bat phone, Tozer’s prayers will get you straight through.

I really haven’t met many books that I didn’t like. Movies, too. I will always watch the latest Pride & Prejudice when it’s on. For a light & fun mood–and who’s ever not up for that?–I love Almost Famous. And Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind deserves a mention, too.

For Christmas? It’s a Wonderful Life. For family lines? The Princess Bride. For nostalgia? The Sound of Music, Mary Poppins and My Fair Lady.

We could be here a while. I can’t let you go without talking about my favorite Disney feature. There are so many magical options. But I have to choose the bookworm. The girl who’s “nothing like the rest of us.”

My friends weighed in, too.

Lindsay says:

Ok. First of all, we all know that this question does not have an answer. It has “hmmms” and “haws” and pause-for-thoughts and moments of silence. But no simple, definitive answer. It gets asked on bad first dates. It’s the icebreaker on the first day of school during “get to know your classmates” when teachers have nothing else planned other than to review the syllabus. It’s the question that stumps any and every parent who think they know their kids inside and out. It’s the most mysteriously simple question with an infinite amount of answers. Any time I get asked this, I reply with probably the most annoying answer on the planet: “That’s a good one…I don’t know.” And it’s true. I don’t think I have one favorite book or just one favorite movie. But I have favorite genres. If we’re talking books {and I’ll always talk books}, I love biographies, autobiographies and sports the most. I just finished reading a book written by one of my all-time favorite tennis players, Johnny Mac. His story was pretty incredible, and it was awesome to learn about what was going on in his life behind the scenes. Movies? I love action. But not gory, gruesome action. I like movies that make you think: Italian Job, all the Bourne movies, Ocean’s Eleven. See? The answer is never easy — or short.

Lynda says:

I feel I must complain to the “Table Topic” gods on this question. Because it’s two questions in one. And I’m not a fan. What do these two questions mean when put together? Are they even related? Is it just asking me separately what is my favorite book and what is my favorite movie? Or are they asking what’s my favorite book made into one of my favorite movies? The possibilities are endless. If I’m allowed to have input, I prefer a little more directness and clarity in my table topics. But alas, no one asked me.

So I choose to answer this question as “what’s my favorite book made into my favorite movie?” It’s a little easier to narrow down the options. So without further ado, I must say that Pride & Prejudice ranks pretty darn high on my list. I’m a huge Jane Austen fan, and I could read her books over and over and over. The funny thing is, I had never read Pride & Prejudice before seeing the movie with Keira Knightley and Matthew McFadyen. It’s one of those things I hate to admit, because I’m such a book nerd and would so much rather get swept away with the words and characters I create in my mind. But in this instance, I love them both. The movie touched me, and to this day I can watch it whenever it’s on and recite most of it word for word. It was also the impetus that started me snatching up all of Jane Austen’s books and devouring them one by one. So for that, I’m forever grateful.

So why did I love the movie so much? This is the scene that did it for me. Mr. Darcy comes striding across a field on a crisp, cold, early morning as Elizabeth Bennett watches him. They come together and profess their love for each other, and it’s magical.

If your feelings are still what they were last April, tell me so at once. My affections and wishes have not changed, but one word from you will silence me forever. If, however, your feelings have changed, I will have to tell you: you have bewitched me, body and soul, and I love, I love, I love you. I never wish to be parted from you from this day on. – Mr. Darcy

Does this happen in real life? The single gal in me can only hope. (swoon)

It’s your turn, friends. What’s your favorite book? Movie? Book-turned-movie?

Table Topic Tuesday. 8/6.

Are you ready for the question of the Tuesday? It’s Table Topic Tuesday time.

Today’s question is perfect because we’re out in LA, filming a Thanksgiving commercial for Publix. So turkey has been top-of-mind.

I love Thanksgiving. It’s my favorite holiday. Thanksgiving stars the best food. Stuffing.

Thanksgiving kid crafts are the best. Hands-down.

Thanksgiving time at Disney is the best. Cooler temperatures. Lighter crowds. Pumpkin Mickeys. C’mon.

Thanksgiving traditions are the best.

What was Tuck thankful for last year? Jeff. (Known as Dad).

From the feast to the football, it’s an unassuming holiday. Thanksgiving has no agenda. It’s a day when you do nothing productive and everything important.

It’s the one day that we only have one thing to do. Give thanks.

My friends love Thanksgiving, too. Here’s what they say.

Lindsay says:

If I answered with “the food,”, would that be too obvious? My family never makes a big fuss over Thanksgiving. Over the years our Thanksgivings would rotate locations as we all moved up and down the east coast — a bunch of gypsies, we are. If we traveled around the holiday, we’d bring the festivities to the closest family member’s neck of the woods. Pies and smiles in tow. So, I’d say that’s my favorite thing about Thanksgiving — the uncertainty of whose dining room we end up in. This year? Well, it’ll be a mystery until about a week before we say Grace. And I can’t wait.

Lynda says:

Thanksgiving…seriously one of my favorite holidays. Actually, it is my favorite holiday. Better than Christmas, better than Labor Day, better than all other holidays in my opinion. And I’m not quite sure why. I’m not a huge foodie. I’m rather quite picky when it comes to food. I don’t even like turkey all that much. But there’s one thing I absolutely love, and I usually only eat it one time a year. And that one thing is stuffing. I love stuffing. Specifically, my grandmother’s stuffing. It probably stems from the fact that my grandmother spoils me, as all good grandmothers do. She has her own recipe, but every year due to my pickiness, she’d make a special separate stuffing all for me that left out all the things I wouldn’t eat. She was really too good to me. Nowadays, my taste buds have improved slightly, and I’ll eat the stuffing everyone else eats. But I know that she’d still make a special version for me, if I wanted her to, because she’s the best grandma. And her stuffing is the best. If you ever want to make her special version, here’s the recipe. I promise you won’t be disappointed.

You’re it. What do you love about Thanksgiving dinner?