American Thanksgiving is fraught with a misleading mythology. In the great American myth, the first Thanksgiving was a dinner held jointly between Native Americans and the white settlers, bringing them together.

There are several problems with this scenario:

• It assumes the Native Americans had no thankfulness rituals, when indeed they did.
• It assumes that the white settlers and Native Americans lived happily ever after, when in actuality the Indians were systematically killed and driven into successively smaller parcels of land, all in the name of Western expansion. 

Americans are indoctrinated into the myth at an early age in our schools. We cut out Pilgrims and Indians and learn about the myth  of the First Thanksgiving. Although that dinner actually happened, we are kept away from its aftermath. We are told (or at least we were in my time) that the Indians don't really exist, but we are not told why.

The myth and its originals are personal for me. I am a child of the white settlers and of the Native Americans. I count Michel Cadotte and  Ikwesewe of the Lake Superior (now Lac du Flambeau) Ojibwe as ancestors. Mostly white but for the stories of my family, where we remember ancestors with long black hair and almond-shaped eyes. 

For me to celebrate Thanksgiving, I have to separate the thanks-giving from the mythology, and at the same time remember the thanks that my ancestors gave to their Maker. 

About Time

 

Maryville, MO is under an emergency order which limits gatherings to ten people or less and enforces the mask ordinances because of an upswing of COVID. (It does not shut down local businesses or enforce shelter in place.)

And it's about time. Many residents of the town have proven that they can't comply with the existing mask ordinance, thinking that their legal rights are being impinged upon.

Hint: No, your rights are not being infringed upon; you're being asked to do what's good for America and your fellow human beings. Don't you want to do what's good for America and your fellow human beings? Then we'll make you wear the mask because the governor is calling the National Guard out to help in the overwhelmed hospitals and morgues.

It's not like I'm not suffering as bad as the anti-maskers are. I will not be spending Christmas with my family. I will not be in Kansas City for Thanksgiving to watch the lights. I have ZOOMed my entire semester of classes. I feel lonely and would feel more lonely if I wasn't married. But I adhere to the rules because I don't want to be responsible for contagion. 

I'm angry right now at all the people who should have refrained from meeting in large groups with strangers, who have gone about without masks and with a bad attitude, who have ruined Thanksgiving for all of us because they kept the contagion going.

Thankful for my Burdens

I make a habit of being thankful for the adversity in my life as a way to make peace with it. This year is no exception:

• I am thankful for the social isolation I've faced with COVID-19, because I have had to learn to be patient and to wait for those vacations and writing retreats to be scheduled in an unforeseen future.
• I am thankful for my bipolar disorder because I've had to learn to take care of myself.
• I am thankful for my learning disability (the inability to visualize) because it has made me work harder on my writing.
• I am thankful for every argument I've gotten into with my husband because we've both learned from them.
• I am thankful for not being rich because I haven't lost my sense of perspective.

I know that it's an odd thing to be thankful for adversity, but to me it's more powerful than to be thankful for one's blessings. I have many, and I could go on about those. It always feels to me, though, that being thankful for one's blessings is rubbing it in to others who don't have those blessings. It's easier for me to be thankful for my burdens. 

COVID Thanksgiving and other plans

Before COVID, we had plans for Thanksgiving. We had reserved a room at the Southmoreland on the Plaza in Kansas City, and we were going to brave the crowds to watch the Plaza Lighting Ceremony . We were going to window shop the Plaza for Black Friday and soak up the holiday atmosphere. (We live hours from our families and we get very little time off at Thanksgiving.)

And then COVID came.

Our Thanksgiving this year will be at home, where we are cooking an India-inspired Thanksgiving meal of tandoori turkey breast, mixed greens, sweet-potato and lentil dal, raita, chutneys and naan. And our local baker's macarons for dessert, which are not Indian, but will have to do. 

We'll put up our Christmas decorations on Black Friday and start through our list of Christmas season videos (we have about 10 or 12 to view over the weeks). We will get quality time with our four cats. I will not be grading homework till maybe Sunday. 

Maybe I need this this year. It's been a year where my life's been turned upside down by COVID, where I've had at least two mini-breakdowns to work through between COVID fears and post-election fears (and I didn't miss a lick of work from them), where my retirement goals were put into turmoil by a change in university policy with health insurance. 

 Philosophically, maybe this is the year I need a break for Thanksgiving. Even though it's just three more days of isolation (given the current COVID rates in Missouri, this is a good thing) it's three days of festive and restful isolation to ready me for the last weeks of the semester.

Thanksgiving on the Plaza

It's (American) Thanksgiving morning and I am at a Starbucks on Country Club Plaza. Given the number of people here, I have to think that not everyone spends their holiday in the oft-touted multigenerational blowout meal followed by a gender-segregated tradition where men watch football and women do all the cleanup.

If I'd gone the childbearing route, I would likely be expected to host, as expressed in the song "Over the river and through the woods/to grandmother's house we go". The song also mentions a sleigh, a rather outmoded form of transportation involving a semi-sentient horse that knows the way. Trust me, if I were Grandma, we'd be going out to eat.

Richard and I are those kind of adults who live far away from their relatives and who will neither host nor journey to those traditional Thanksgiving feasts, so we go someplace nearby that's determined to have Thanksgiving dinners for people like us. This year it's Kansas City, where we're staying in a bed and breakfast just off the Plaza and watching the Plaza lighting from the balcony. And watching people go crazy for Black Friday.

What am I thankful for? My quirky, unconventional life.

Tha

Because our families are so far away and it's no fun to cook for two and our house is too chaotic for guests (with now four cats, as Buddy has been shunning our house for brighter prospects with his buddy the black-and-white cat), my husband and I go somewhere fun and eat turkey there.

This year, we're off for a couple days to a mini-holiday in Kansas City: Staying at a bed and breakfast on the Plaza, eating turkey at a restaurant in Waldo (all together: where's Waldo?), knocking around and watching shoppers on Black Friday. The bed and breakfast -- Southmoreland on the Plaza -- promises to be a treat, with afternoon sherry and turndown chocolates.

I started dating my now-husband on Thanksgiving break in 2005. He got acquainted to my ritual of watching Black Friday shoppers rather than shopping (much cheaper, fewer hassles). I think that's why we got married: he liked my quirk. 

So this should be a pleasant break before going back to work (I'm a professor of human services) on Monday. But there's only one week of work, then finals, then I'm off for Winter Break. That's just strange.

Thanksgiving writing retreat -- and a dilemma

I am well on my way through day 2 of my second edit of Whose Hearts are Mountains (while waiting for Thanksgiving buffet at 11) and I'm left with a dilemma.

Do I send Voyageurs to my developmental editor first, or do I send Whose Hearts are Mountains?

The arguments in favor of Voyageurs:

• It's older than Whose Hearts are Mountains
• It's a romance novel, and I think it could get published as such
• It really deserves a dev edit

The arguments in favor of Whose Hearts are Mountains:

• It's fresher and might be a better novel because of what I've learned
• It's not romance (I think it's contemporary fantasy) and I don't become pigeon-holed as a romance writer
• It also deserves a dev edit
• It's part of an established series (which hasn't been published yet)

(*anguished scream*) I hate to decide!

For all of you who celebrate US Thanksgiving, Happy Thanksgiving! For those of you who do not, my best wishes and support to you.

Writing retreat time

I'm off to Nebraska City (a two-hour car ride from here) to Lied Lodge for a couple days of writing retreat. It will be challenging -- I'm reviewing the beginning of Whose Hearts are Mountains, struck by how I could do the whole reveal of the US's collapse better. And while I'm at it, how I could improve the flashbacks at the beginning, and ...

Yes, it's a really rough draft. But there's something there worth salvaging.

For all my US friends, Happy Thanksgiving! For my readers overseas, find something to celebrate!

Marcie's Thanksgiving

Hi, my name is Marcie, and I just turned 8! I spent Thanksgiving with my Aunt Laurie and Uncle Richard at a big hotel called The Elms. It looks kind of like a castle until you go inside, and then it looks kind of like a castle inside, only not in the big stone sort of way. They haven't decorated for Christmas yet, and they play old music -- really old music Aunt Laurie calls Sinatra.

Thanksgiving dinner was wonderful, but a bit strange. They had the turkey and the stuffing and the cranberries and the mashed potatoes and the gooey yams, but they also had salads and shrimp and this smoky undercooked salmon. I tried everything -- including too much pecan pie with lots of whipped cream. Real whipped cream.

I sat in the lobby by the fireplace for a while -- people brought their dogs indoors, can you believe it? I petted a big dog with stripey spots on it, and he leaned against me so I had to keep petting him. I tried to pet a little fluffy dog in a vest, but the owner said it was a service dog. Aunt Laurie said that the dog should have said "Service Dog" in big letters so you could see it.

They have hot tubs, cold tubs, and a place where you can walk in circles in the water. Aunt Laurie calls that a lap pool. That water's cold!  I walked two laps in it and then got too cold and hopped into the hot tub, which was hot! I guess that's why they call it a hot tub.

What they don't have is toys.  That's okay, because I brought my doll and my writing stuff.  My Barbie's chubby, and I picked her that way because she looks like my best friend Sara. And my Aunt Laurie. Lots of people are chubby. Barbie danced on the back of the couch (which Aunt Laurie said was leather) and then the wedding party strolled through with white and black dresses, and I thought it would be cool if the big dog was best man and the little dog was the ring bearer. Nope, they had little kids doing that.

Did I have birthday cake and presents, you ask? Nope, not yet. My birthday's not till Sunday and my mom does birthday things. I think my mom is going to get me art supplies like I asked -- not fingerpaint but paper and colored pencils and a coloring book with cats. And a cat! I get to pick her up (all cats are girls, by the way) from the Humane Society Monday.

Gotta go -- Aunt Laurie's walking over to the coffee shop like a zombie -- BRAIIINS! -- and I want to watch her order coffee!

Happy (US) Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving is a day where we express our thanks for the bounties in our lives. Personally, I do that every day (unless of course I'm depressed, which happens on occasion). I open the door of my life to a blur of tumbling colors and laughter and the search for the perfect words. This is why, if you meet me on the street and ask me how I am, I get this silly grin and say "Really good!" and then run out of words.  Thank you to the people I run into on the street who put up with my spaciness.

With the colors and laughter and words comes the desire to make things better for people. I feel so powerless sometimes, what with the ugliness that passes for patriotism and nationalism and even religion these days. My seven-year-old alter ego Marcie believes that if everyone was nice to each other, everything would be better. I personally think that if those who have more would just share the power, the wealth, the love, the dignity, the recognition -- things would be okay.  Thank you to the people who passionately work for equality and equity, especially for the culturally and ethnically diverse, the neurodiverse, and those in the LGBTQIA rainbow.

I have been working on giving up things and holding on to people. I don't do this as well as I'd like -- I would just as soon curl up and suck my thumb as talk "small talk". I'm not an introvert; I just want to exchange stories and talk about what we're passionate about. Thank you to those of you who have gifted me with those kinds of conversations in my life.

Sometimes things get in the way of life -- in my case it's my neurodiversity (bipolar 2) and side effects of the medications it takes to help me be highly productive. Sometimes I'm weepy; sometimes I stagger and lose my balance, or my hands shake; sometimes I get sick from being too warm or too cold. Thank you to my doc, Dr. Jura, for listening and working with me to get my meds to work for me.

My life includes a career, a house, five cats, the most understanding husband in the world, and an imagination. I'm thankful for that most of all.

Happy Thanksgiving to all my US friends and readers, and to all of you, thank you again for reading!