THANKSGIVING FOR SPOONIES

In two days we will be lying comatose on couches and rugs, wishing we hadn't had that second piece of pie, or that second helping of sausage/cornbread stuffing with sage and onions. Some of us might be daring and even throw in some za'atar into the stuffing.

But this year, I am taking it easy. Due to that darn autonomic nervous system disorder (Orthostatic Hypotension we fondly call it, meaning your blood pressure drops alarmingly when you stand, and sometimes you faint to the floor.) I am getting smarter about what I CAN and CANNOT do.

Let me explain what a Spoonie is, the title of this blog, and you can figure out if you are one. A Spoonie is anyone with a chronic condition that negatively impacts their life: Be that some form of mental illness or some kind of physical condition. I shall not name them all as it goes on far too long and makes us mournful.

One of the problems with being a Spoonie is that you never can predict that you will have enough energy, or "spoons" to accomplish a task, meet someone for coffee, make dinner, talk to your friend on the phone, whatever. And the second problem is that we so often look well. "But you don't look sick," as the famous phrase goes from Christine Misericando, who invented the term and runs a blog. (www.butyoudontlooksick.christine-misericando-articles.)

If you decide you are a Spoonie, you need to be really careful abut what you attempt on Thanksgiving day and the days before. Hee's what I do, and t of course involves Amazon, money, the postal service, and a flower delivery service. Also Trader Joe's!

As a Spoonie I find shopping for groceries basically kills me, hence my sweatshirt with the legend, I AM DISABLED on the back, and on the front, BRAIN FOG. But having brain fog, I forgot to stencil in the "r" so had to put a little arrow between the b and the a and insert "r" over. Sigh. This was in response to shopping recently at a big store when a perfectly nice man asked me a question in the check-out line and I had a brain crash: da nada, no words, nothing came out. Finally I gasped, "disability, sorry," pointing to my cane in the cart.

So these are my holiday strategies which I will also apply to Christmas, and if you are Jewish, use them for Hannukah as well.

1/ I will ask Rick to motor over to Trader Joe's and buy that expensive, brined big turkey breast to cook. Ready to go! 

2/ At Big Y and Trader Joe's you can get gravy, mashed potatoes, and mashed butternut squash. But being a foodie I am not sure if I will do all of them, but some of them for sure.

3/ Buy cornbread stuffing from Trader Joe's and add cooked sausage and sage at the end. Don't bother to stuff turkey (make sure to remove plastic bag from inside), and cook in a bread pan. Yum.

4/ I will order a centerpiece from Nuttleman's Florists for the holiday, because going out and gathering grasses and ferns to put in a home grown pumpkin (as I used to do) is more than my wobbly legs can accomplish right now. But you are free to do this and tie a red ribbon around the dried bouquet. Put in a vase and, voila!

5/ I will ask guests to bring cider and wine, something decent, unlike the Gallo wine which my mom had me pour for guests years ago (who knew nothing about wine and drank it rarely except on rare occasions when she had too much sherry and sang bawdy limericks). Mom told me to pour the wine, "And don't fill it up to the top, Annie, because we want people to get the bouquet." Gallo bouquet!!!  She must have read about that in a magazine.

6/ I will ask others to do the cleanup and go rest on the couch, guiltily, calling out from time to time, "Hope there is not too much work in there?" Rick will reassure me kindly that everything is under control. But how can it be under control if I am not there to oversee everything and make helpful suggestions?

7/ Then I might even trail upstairs for a short nap, murmuring, "Sorry, need to lie down for a bit. Back soon. Ish."

This is Thanksgiving at a Spoonie's house: sending out for food; buying things online; getting already prepared food; roping in people to do most of the work; and then resting. Resting. And don't forget my nifty signal which I invented during chemo. When someone has roped you into a lengthy, intimate conversation, and you realize your brain has gone south: tap them on the knee. "Tired, love talking to you, gotta go." Then go hide out in the bathroom, pretending to floss your teeth and perhaps pluck your eyebrows, if needed.

And don't forget to say a grace over the meal, once everyone is gathered: the folks you love and cannot live without; the folks you kind of wish had come down with a cold so they could not come; the dear relatives you see so rarely; and friends who need a place to share the holiday with. Here's a good grace for us UCC wildly liberal people, and one for us Popish folks who still cross ourselves before the meal and afterwards:

    Mother, Father, Creator God, (that's UCC), or, In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost, (crossing yourself Catholic) we thank you for this abundance spread out before us. We thank you for all of the people who worked so hard to grow this food and bring it to market. We remember the Indigenous peoples who helped the Puritans survive the first winter, and we mourn what happened to their land and culture. Thank you that we are together, sharing love, the Holy Spirit, and hopes for the future and our troubled world. Amen.

If you feel so inclined, you can ask everyone to raise a hand and bless the food before us.