Thanksgiving is less than two weeks away. This means that you can’t open a paper, magazine, or website without finding a host of articles on gratitude. You can even find articles complaining about the people who write about how grateful they are.
I have always found this topic fairly easy to write about. Counting my blessings is pretty easy as I have much in my life to be thankful for. But do people really need, or even want, one more essay about how much I love my quirky family or why I’m grateful for lipstick?
Whenever I’m stuck for an idea, I tend to ask, cajole, threaten, and even beg my husband for ideas. I’m pretty sure Joe was just having some fun with me when he suggested I write about being thankful I’m not a turkey. But I’m desperate and up for a challenge. I figured, what the heck?
The following are my reasons why I feel blessed I’m not the star of the Thanksgiving menu this year.
The attention is great, but the ending, not so much: Unless you are a vegan or really detest the bird, turkeys are the main course of a traditional Thanksgiving feast. Now don’t get me wrong, I love being the center of attention. (After all I’m a blogger and writer).
The idea of having a host of articles and shows all about how to take care of me sounds really, really, tempting. Nonetheless we all know where all that attention leads to. That’s right, after everybody stands around and talks about how gorgeous you are, they carve you to pieces. No thanks. (Of course this can also happen to bloggers and writers, but I digress.)
Freedom is amazing, but at what price? I’m not going to lie, I do have occasional fantasies about being a bird and flying off into the sunset free and unencumbered. I would have no homework to help with and no children telling me I’m ruining their lives because I made pasta for dinner. If I could fly away, I won’t have to have my sleep interrupted by my youngest in the wee hours of the morning asking me to make him pancakes and bacon.
Now perhaps you’re under the assumption that though turkeys are birds, they don’t fly. Well, I’m here to tell you you’re wrong. Wild turkeys can fly — they can go almost a mile without flapping their wings.
Of course, a mile is probably only as far as I would get before I missed my 11-year old asking me for a hug, my 17-year-old telling me about something great about his day, or my 14-year-old daughter singing her heart out to her iPhone. It hardly seems worth the effort of becoming a turkey when I can just go to Starbucks if ever I need a quick reprieve.
Beware of diets that say you can eat all you want: Turkeys do get to stuff themselves silly in order to get ready for their big day. I’ve been trying to lose my baby fat for 11 years. The idea of being actually encouraged to eat all I want sounds pretty darn good.
But, I must refer you to Reason 1, all that eating comes at a price. Yes, once you are the perfect size, you are going to be put in a pan and cooked. No thank you.
No need to rush what nature is going take care of anyway: I’m 51. I don’t have much time before my neck starts looking like a turkey’s. No need to be hasty.
Turkeys don’t blog: People who act like turkeys sure can have a lot to say. But as a general rule, I’m pretty sure no actual bird has their own website devoted to their life of raising children and getting older. What would I do if I didn’t spend hours obsessing on what to write and hours playing, I mean working, on Facebook and Twitter promoting my site? Clean? Cook? What’s the fun in that?
I have so much to be thankful for. I feel very blessed to have a great family and many dear friends, both on and off line. And this year especially, I’m very grateful for a husband who, along with me, is glad I’m not a turkey.
*This piece originally ran on the Dishwasher, November 16, 2014, under the title, Giving Thanks Isn’t for Turkeys. It has been edited.