I got the most ridiculous letter in the mail on Monday. The author was a doctor whose care I came under last summer (2008, to be clear). She said she hoped the letter found me well. She informed me that due to 60 days of inactivity, she was closing my file. At first I was dismissive, ridiculing the correspondence because I’d actually been inactive for over 6 months and the bitch was LATE. But, the more I made fun of it, the more I thought about what it meant. My file was closed. It was CLOSED. And that stupid piece of paper morphed into a certificate of accomplishment. This morning I dug out my emergency stash of medication and threw it all away.

Thanksgiving. That’s today. We’re excited about it. That’s the royal “we”, man. A lot of people aren’t, though. There’s a certain dread a lot of folks feel around the holidays. I know because I talk to a lot of people and most of them have horror stories ready for the sharing. On the surface, folks spin yarns to entertain, but it’s all deeply rooted in emotions and personal truths. We laugh, wave a hand and utter cheerful exclamations. Then we sigh and think while we sip our beverage, waiting for someone else to tell a chuckler. And we’ve all got ‘em. But that’s not the important part of this paragraph. The important part is the thinking.

In between the stories and the laughs I’ll think about that letter; about the journey to which that letter vaguely refers, and to the ending that it signifies. And I will be thankful for it, among many, many other things.

Happy Thanksgiving to all.

I’m actually writing this entry mid flight to Houston. There’s nothing better for reminiscing than being stuck in a seat for three and a half hours. All is calm, all is bright, save a blonde hair-flipping college athlete sitting one row in front of me, with all of her “like” and “drama” and “totally” chatter to her seat mate. On a different day or trip I’d be irritated that she can’t keep her voice below bar level. Today? I’m flying high in all senses, so she’s off the hook. Then again, I’ve only been on the plane for about 30 minutes.

And now a baby just started screaming.

Ah, the holidays!

And these have been eventful and momentous and all of those grand words that people use to describe big deals. Back in July my parents purchased an airplane ticket for me; the purpose for my journey was to help them make some repairs to the house they lived in at the time. Well, they moved away from South Carolina and I found myself with a two week excuse to cram in some serious sister time, along with quality Herzog hangin’ out. And it was worth every moment, let me tell you.

Latice had a birthday, graduated with her MS from Clemson University, and I got to watch her open a Christmas present for the first time in three years. Heck, Jed and I got to watch his parents open gifts, too (I know! We really made this trip count). All of these things I used to take for granted when I lived, schooled, and worked in South Carolina. Having a retail job in Oregon for three years, during which the holidays were off limits for vacations, made me appreciate such milestones more. I call them the “Life Things”. Life is too short to miss out on the “Life Things”.

So we “Life”-d it up.

I learned a few “Things”, too. Or, more accurately, I remembered. For one, Jed and I are more than blessed with amazing friends. The few that we were able to visit with made us feel like we’d only been gone for a day or two. Also, we had it pretty good while living in Clemson. Jed and I worked in the same office, with the added bonus of fun and caring coworkers. We knew someone everywhere we went in downtown Clemson, and a friendly game of pool was only a block away. And the food! Super Taco, China Wok, Mellow Mushroom… Finally, it was great to live so close to family. Sure, being an airplane ride away has its advantages, but there is something to be said for a short jaunt up or over to the ‘rents. Or the ability to cook dinner with little sister.

But I had my time, so now it’s back to Portland and all of the “Life Things” Jed and I share there. To our friends, our little apartment, our favorite coffee house, our walks into downtown—To our lives that are separate and different from the lives of our families. They will intertwine little in the coming years. But when they can, I’ll be there.