Kim Weiss Publishing Services

Thanksgiving corn

November 26, 2010 at 11:05 am

Seven twenty-five on Thanksgiving morning and I’m in Palm Beach airport praying to the flying gods to protect my tender ears. North Carolina is my destination and feels like a giant exhale from my regular life. Not quite recovered from my last aerial ballet to the Big Apple, I’m bringing a still healing body to the mountains. I plan on stuffing my nose with a cocktail of vitamin E and Afrin and not breathing for the entire flight. And, God forbid, I should touch anything or anybody. I will also be enveloped in an invisible bubble of white light and employ my angels to get me through.

I know they will. So will my handy-dandy blue scarf with the sequined stripes.

Body malfunctions aside, I have plenty of time to celebrate gratitude, to amplify it and reflect on how much I have in my heart.  Even my germy moments remind me how lucky I am to be fully functional save a flu or cold here and there. I have my arms to hug with, hands with which to pet my cat, legs to get around and stand on, and lips from where I can yawn and laugh. As for the grey matter between my ears I am grateful for even your misfired synapses and forgetfulness. I won’t sing the entire medley of internal organ hits except a shout out to the Timex ticking in my chest cavity, my blessed heart.

People, places and things, I embrace you all. You know who, what, and where you are.

On this Thanksgiving holiday, I am not a Butterball. I am a cornball. Overstuffed with goodness and love.

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