With the 2019 Thanksgiving holiday a blink away, I have yet another festive tale to share. Out of the memory attic of brother Frankie comes Thanksgiving 1967.  A phone call earlier in the week helped provide the fodder for this fable/truth. “Francie, I called to ask that you might consider sharing that first holiday on the farm after Daddy died. You remember our first Thanksgiving without him, don’t you? Boy, I remember like it was yesterday…”

And so carried the convo between Frankie and myself. We laughed, he lingered, and may have stretched a bit, however, here’s his take. I’m not so certain of the details as shared, but enjoy another episode of  “Life With the Crazy Eights.” Thank You Frankie!

As earlier mentioned, Daddy had suddenly passed in August of 1967. Leaving Momma to tend the farm, its many animals, and eight growing children, life continued to slowly move forward. A number of friends, neighbors and relatives helped with chores and such while we transitioned into a new family of courageous souls. 

One such neighbor was Johnny Goss. He and wife Bernice checked in often to avail themselves in any helpful way. Thanksgiving would be covered by their generous offering of cooking up one of their farm-raised turkeys. Several had been butchered and smoked by Mr. G. and we would be lucky enough to share in his generosity. Dropping by about noon with cooked turkey at hand, we would be most grateful for this kindness. 

Early Thanksgiving morning, Momma had started the feast of feasts. Fresh garden potatoes from the cellar, canned green beans, squash and assorted pickled veggies would garnish the table for nine. Our favorites, however, had to be her homemade breads and pies baked the day prior. 

Not only did she create two standard pumpkin pies, but her homemade mince completed two others. Often our family favorites, there was always a most difficult choice as to which pie one would indulge. Just like that, however, Momma eased our indecisions. She single-handedly baked up two additional “magic” pies. The bottom half was mince while the top half was pumpkin! No dilemma in decisions! Bless Momma’s ingenuity!

While aromas continued to fill the house, her kidlets began rising. A few of us older girls were allowed to help with peeling, chopping and grinding while the younger ones viewed Detroit’s J.L. Hudson’s Parade on television. All quiet and calm in this house of busy. 

Close to noon, Johnny and Bernice arrived with one huge, roasted turkey. Momma welcomed them in as the golden, smoked, bird took its place in the table’s center. Calm was quickly being replaced by oohs, aahs, and liveliness. The table was readied with the clang of silverware and milk glasses as five sets of chocolate eyes peeked into the kitchen. Shammy the dog and two stray kittens chased each other’s tails in excitement. The buzzer of doneness alerted everyone that the bread was baked. Add a phone call from Grandma and the house was abuzz. 

Retrieving the bread, Momma produced her usual mastery of ordering the crazy eights to composure. “You kids get back to the parade and dinner will be ready in no time. I need this kitchen cleared.” Off we toddled with no questions asked. 

Johnny and Bernice were asked to join us for dinner. Kindly declining, they had family visiting. In return for their generous gift of food, Momma provided them a pie of choice and a dozen dinner rolls. Kisses, hugs, and smiles were exchanged as they left for home. 

Within minutes, Momma had the turkey carved and ready for our pleasure. We excitedly took our places as she led us in prayer. In whispers, we all took time to thank God for our gracious neighbors, the bounty of food before us, and the love that had been our support since Daddy’s passing. And in His name we prayed, Amen.  Let’s eat! 

A most premium of meals filled our eyes and tummies. Little was left as the table was cleared and dishes washed. Naps, a movie on the black and white, or a good game of Scrabble were in order. We had our favorites. Momma left the carved carcass out to cool as she took to her bedroom for a short nap. The kitchen was once again gleaming clean as we attended to our after dinner comforts. 

Late afternoon, Momma rose from her well-deserved nap. Joining us in the living room to assess hunger needs, it was agreed that pie and ice cream would suffice as our cap off to Thanksgiving. “Well then, I’ll get the turkey trimmed up for sandwiches and into the fridge for tomorrow. I’ll call you to the kitchen when the pie is ready!”  Yum! The best part of the best meal ever!

“Kids! Get out here right now! Hurry!” Momma was surely excited.  “Hurry, before it’s too late!”

Nearly tripping over each other, we made a dash to the kitchen. Before our eyes was most unexpected. Atop the counter sat the meatless skeleton while peering from the inside of the carcass were four innocent eyes! The two kittens had cleverly made a feast of the leftovers and had found refuge in the back end of the bird! All Momma could say was, “I guess they don’t like pie as much as they do turkey!”

With that said, she quickly removed turkey, kittens and pan to the front porch. No leftover sandwiches of the smoked fowl. No turkey soup. Just fixins and pie. What a treat for us all. Another memory feast topped with amaze, excite, and a few giggles!

Lessons Learned: 

Family and friends are the backbones of strength.  Following the loss of our daddy, a whirlwind of crazy could easily have occurred. Our family became a team of strength for each other while neighbors and friends offered the same.  God bless us all.

A good laugh heals a lot of hurts –  M. L’Engle. One of Momma’s greatest gifts! 

Thanks for reading!

For those of you who know me well, my life is an open book. Often seen as positive and upbeat, my mood seldom waivers. No cover ups. No hidden agendas. Each new day is greeted with smiles and prayers of thankfulness and gratitude. For the most part, I am happy and content.  Likened to Popeye’s attitude, “I yam what I yam”, while moving forward in this adventurous life. 

Yes, as a child, I spent many a Saturday mornings sharing the sofa with siblings and blankets while enjoying the antics of Popeye, his ever-loving Olive Oyl, and adorable baby, Sweet Pea.  Carefree and appearing to be uneducated, our sailor man hero powered up to tackle the insurmountable. With his go-to can of spinach and ever present pipe, Popeye would miraculously save the day as life moved forward in Puddleburg. But wait, there’s more…

Yes, the insurmountable. We all have those negative and often difficult moments. I liken those to Popeye’s nemesis, Brutus. The spoiler. The foil to our hero being, the Brutus ghost within our lives. Those blackball, often unpredictable, moments. The Brutus influence may stay for hours, days, or months at a time. 

We all have the Brutus complex, some more than others. Without a doubt, my teen years were often consumed by deep depression and hopelessness. Daddy had left our family by a sudden, unexpected means and turned our world of happy upside down. Brutus days slowly crawled into weeks and months of agony for me. The lights were dimmed. Brutus prevailed.

A blessing in disguise, my Popeye  appeared. Prayer, Momma’s strength, the love of siblings, and a high school counselor provided me the positive “spinach” to once again move forward.  Constant, supportive, and loving, my life found a new normal. College, a most rewarding career in education, and a happily-ever-after marriage fed my life with the nutrition of positives and good fortune. 

Over time, however, the ghosts of Brutus beckoned with vengeance. The invincible me would be challenged to find the constructive, optimistic me. Divorce. It became the common thread of upside down helpless and hopeless. My spinach had run out. 

Forty-two years of faithful love and respect abruptly ended within a six-week span of legal wranglings. Self-evaluation challenged my heart, soul, and brain on a daily basis. The darkened abyss was making its home in my Brutus world. 

Before I could grasp it, the improbable single life was waiting.  A half step forward, two steps back. The road became rutted, muddy, and appeared to be going nowhere. Where was my spinach? Unconsciously I heard these words, “The door is open. You are going to be fine. Come through, I’m always with you.”  And that I did with God. My strength and shield. 

At my ripened age of 60-plus, I made the decision to never look back or regret. My spinach of positive and happy continued to feed my daily living. Sacred,  joyous, memories of family, career, and self-respect once again, power me forward. 

Moving to a new city was my first can of spinach. Immediately, I joined a church and became an active volunteer in the community. Helping others gave me the nutritional confidence to grow and discover my new self. Contentment and positive became my Popeye.

Extensive travel and seeking out past friendships have also strengthened my bond to positivity. The sunny south has become my winter lust for the last three years. New friendships and volunteering feed me. In addition, making anew with high school pals has entertained my present chapter of living. And why?  Because I Can!  

Of late, our world appears to dwell on the no good, woe is me, and the like.  This alternative is much too severe to reside in me. Life is just too darn short to spend in negative reality. Complaining doesn’t prove much and seldom strokes our spirit. In actuality, our circle of peers aren’t really interested in our woes. 

All in all, we must find our normal and live where we find comfort. Look within my friends and you may discover a new self. Choose the better. Choose the good. Choose YOU!

Lessons Learned:

Focus on what beautiful things go into your life. Find your beauty and send it out! It gives you a way of facing anxiety and the unpredictable. YOU HAVE THE TOOLS! The door is open… What a beautiful gift!

Feed the positive, Starve the alternative. Spinach your life with confidence and strength! Let your Popeye live!

Thanks for reading as you carry onward and forward!

As mentioned previously, I hail from a large, loving family of seven siblings. Over the years, we have grown apart physically, however, emotionally an intense strength of love and respect exists.  Living for the most part in the state of Michigan, we afford opportunities to gather, celebrate, and share. In addition light truths and exaggerations about those not present make for cheap entertainment.  Strong roots. Strong values. Family first with ample giggles and gossip.

Thanksgiving is one such event we seldom miss. A sib will choose to host, send out appropriate invites, and set a tentative menu. Tentative is a loose term to exactly describe two memorable celebrations in my home. 

Circa, fall of 1987. Invites were sent to family. In total, we would entertain 22 hungry, happy, diners. Gramma, her eight lovebugs, assorted inlaws and grands. The creative teacher in me decided that invites would be a little different this year. I affectionately called it, “Goes With Thanksgiving”.

I penned each invite as such: “Once again, it will be our  pleasure to host family to the annual November Fallfest. To make this Thanksgiving easier, we will provide the Turkey, Stuffing, Mashed Potatoes and Gravy. Please provide a homemade specialty of yours that will compliment our feast. Can’t wait for the grand gathering!” 

Homemade dishes were standard expectations. A given for our farm raised family. Claudia was our champion for awesome desserts. Ang often supplied her famous scalloped corn while her twin Zen always provided homemade bread and rolls. Easy enough I assumed. Assumed. A most foreboding word. 

Families arrived early for the 1:00 p.m. dinner. Joyous hugs, kisses, and smiles filled our home. A smorgasbord of aromas kissed the air. Potholders decorated the kitchen counter, anticipating the appetizing dishes. Lids were kept in place for the soon-to-be reveal. The bronzed bird and accompaniments slid into place. We formed a large circle, bowed heads, and brother Frankie led us in thankful prayer. Let the feasting begin!

As brothers and sisters uncovered their contributions, it became apparent something was amiss.  ALL seven siblings had provided a garden favorite, baked squash! Yes, our colorful menu consisted of seven homemade squash delights!  With marshmellows. Roasted. Pecan crusted. Topped with fresh maple syrup just to name a few. None were duplicated! 

Bon Appetit took on a whole new meaning! The gene pool was alive and well with my sibs. Telepathic? Kismet? Nothing mattered. Fun and jibes were once again stitched into our family crazy quilt of memories.

For the 1988 fallfest, I was determined to right the wrongs of the previous year. Continuing the creative side, my invitation, “Family Giving With a Splash of Color”, read as follows:  “ I will be serving the usual Turkey, Stuffing, Potatoes and Gravy. Claudia, please provide a dish of something green. Ang, something yellow, Zenia, something brown.” The list and colors continued for all attending invitees. Nothing would be amiss as I imagined Green Bean Casserole, Scalloped Corn, Home baked rolls, and yes, Squash. Yum, I could not wait to redeem my previous year’s naivete. The term, “ASSUMED” subsciously teased. 

Not to be outdone by each other, my sibs provided a fine mix of color and originality. Nothing, however, was of nutritional value! What graced the table were not casserole dishes, crock pots, or pie carriers. Claudia shared Green Apple flavored Licorice, from the bag.  Ang added yellow Corn chips. Zenia did not provide her delicious bread, but rather, six caramel apples “dressed” like turkeys. Frankie provided his usual chuckle as he laid out a various assortment of Frito-Lay snacks and dips from his work. I’m certain you have a picture of our most unfestive junk food giving! 

Once again, our family circle gathered, we clasped hands, and Frankie led us in thankful prayer.  A snicker here. A giggle there. Another family chapter in the books. We all grew a few inches as the colorful yummy allowed. Heaps of crazy as yet another piece of our family quilt was “stitched” with food, fun, and family. 

Lessons learned: 

Creativity is never predictable. With both of these Thanksgiving feasts, I could never have predicted the menus that appeared on the table. Creative, yes. Predictable, NO!

You don’t choose your family, they are God’s gift to you just as you are to them. Desmond Tutu said it best. My family of seven siblings may be a bit crazy, a bit gossipy, however, we are a family who dearly love one another in good times and the not so much. No matter the circumstances, we have each other’s backs. God Bless my sibs and God Bless FAMILY!

Thanks for reading and have a most blessed day of Thanksgiving! 

As long as I can remember, humor has been a staple to my existence. Whether it be laughing with others or at my own foibles, funny has come easy.  Seldom have I gotten in trouble. On the contrary, a quick wit has often been my shield for staying out of it! 

In previous writings I have made strong association with the “Grand Dame of Humor”, Miss Lucille Ball.  A true comedian, Lucy entertained audiences for over 50 years with foolish antics. Minus her carrot-orange hair, I have easily held and survived on Lucy’s crazy persona for nearly the same time.  

Lucy often found innocent sidekicks with her many hairbrained, naive, ideas. One such gal pal was long-loved, sweet, sassy, Ethel. Through the thick and thin of their relationship, these two friends remained loyal and true, no matter the circumstances. I have shared the likes of Ethel in the workplace, social circles, and yes, my family.  No one, however, compared to my dear, dear professional friend, Dee-lightful Ethel. It is with true joy and love, I honor Miss Dee. 

It wasn’t until my last eight years teaching did I have the support of a full time aide. Dee was a paraprofessional to a freshman student on my caseload. He was legally blind and required a full time assistant to provide support for accommodations and brailling.  She had served this teen since early elementary and would follow him through graduation. A desk, bookcase, a few shelves, and space were all she needed to move into my room. Easy to like, we became quick friends and comrades. 

As stated earlier, humor played a vital role to my being and survival. Working with teens certainly challenged my wit and patience. Along with professional duties, it became apparent that Dee had the necessary humor to survive.  As a result, she easily became an aider and abettor to all things funny. 

Readily acquiring Ethel-like qualities, we were in business. Several Lucy/Ethel scenarios consistently kept teamwork on the lighthearted side. One particular incident continues to top all blunders. 

Early June had arrived. Stressors of completing projects, exam preps, and locker cleaning were among the frenzied activities of most students. Yes, locker cleaning was the ultimate in crazy behaviors. 

In an effort to sense the need to purge and finish the year, students threw away EVERYTHING! Unused notebooks, paper, pens, pencils, calculators and anything else that could get stuffed in a locker and forgotten. The good, the bad, and ugly found cozy  in oversized trash cans that peppered the hallways. Valuables had become worthless.

Lucy and Ethel would benefit from this foolish behavior. When school had ended for the day, we made the decision to “casually” glean these overflowing cans for any and all materials we could use for the next school year. Worthless had become valuables once again.

As you can imagine, our casual gleaning easily led to quasi-dumpster diving.  It took little for us to lose apprehension and gain courage. Our mission to recycle and save was paramount. Dumb-founded at what students tossed, the more we dug, the more worth the wares!

“Lucy, can you believe I’ve got three new calculators from this trash can?  Oh my gosh, these folders have never been used!” Ethel was in her glory of finds.

I had found refuge in one particular bin of goods. Retrieving rulers, markers, and unopened boxes of tissue, I continued to dig deeper and blurted, “ Ethel, you can’t believe all that is here. Come over and help me, please!”

With that said, I heard nothing. I pleaded once again with no response. Raising up with my overflowing arms, who should appear but the district’s Superintendent!  With popped eyes and gaped mouth, we were both speechless. Before my fellow abettor could speak, Mr. Boss, smiled with a nod, “ Ladies.”  And just like that, off he walked.

“Just getting a few things ready for next fall, Mr. Bates,” I quickly added. 

Ethel chimed in, “Yes, Mr. Bates, these kids throw away the darndest things.” 

Regardless of what we clucked, our fiasco ended as abruptly as it had started. Mr. Bates silently continued down the hall as we stood, arms tangled, in dopey astonishment. A Lucy and Ethel classic had come true!

All in all, Dee and I had an over abundance of fun in our daily duties. Along with wit and crazy, we became each other’s professional comrade and partner. Consistent in discipline and praise, we survived the most stressful of days. 

Not having the professional title of educator, Dee was an outstanding and supportive mentor to these needy teens. She often reminded me, “I’m a mom before anything else. I’m not a screamer, but I have a firm voice.” And that she did. We paired perfectly, as she easily took responsibility with little effort. 

Respect, kindheartedness, and a firm voice. Thank you Dee-lightful Ethel for your unselfish deeds and heart.  My life-long friend. No truer friend, No matter what! 

Lessons Learned: 

There is a fine line between creative and chaos. As much as I’d like to think our teaching days were creative, Dee and I experienced our share of chaos… organized, loving, chaos! 

When life gets tough, the tough get moving. Often the scenario, Dee and I made the best of difficult situations. Most times that are the toughest are on roads that are the narrowest, where gates are the smallest, and we must get through. And that we did! 

Thanks for reading!