THANKS
Copyright (c) Rick Yost
In the course of my
average life, I’ve had my share of stressful and/or sad holidays.
But most have been filled with family, friends, fabulous food and laughter.
There is one Thanksgiving that I will always remember- this particular one I
spent by myself.
The year was 1989 and I was in East Dallas. A few months prior I had staggered
away from one of my many train-wreck relationships. I felt I needed a break
from everything for a while. I’d planned to live alone, do some writing
and spend time sorting out some personal things on my own. This would become
a Thoreau-like experience for me.
Playing music only occasionally, my main source of income came from working
at a carwash. I was comfortably broke most of the time. (Not wanting for necessities,
but absolutely no extras) I was living behind an apartment house in an old storeroom
turned into garage apartment. No more than a rickety old shack- It was quiet,
pest-free and cheap. My little domicile consisted of one small room, with a
tiny kitchen in the corner, and a even tinier bathroom with a door that wouldn't
stay shut. It was all I needed at the time.
Thanksgiving morning was wet and cold. I hovered close to the gas burners of
the tiny kitchen stove. This was my only source of heat. The current cold snap
had caught me by surprise. Shivering as I worked, I did my best to close up
the cracks around the old, wooden windows with duct tape. I placed a saucepan
under the slow-dripping roof leak in the middle of the room.
With no phone, television, computer or visitors, my day was full of peaceful
solitude.
I was free to indulge in two of my favorite things: reading the works of Ralph
Emerson and playing my guitar. It was on this day that I was inspired to finish
the song, Snowman. That alone made it a great day.
As evening drew closer, my thoughts turned to my Thanksgiving dinner. Yes, I
had good friends who’d offered a place at their table, which I appreciated,
but graciously declined. I love my friends but there are times when I prefer
my own company.
With the few dollars I had in my pocket, I walked to the supermarket and bought
a turkey roll, a box of instant stuffing and a can of cranberry sauce.
That evening, my room was filled with the smells of a grand Thanksgiving feast.
The room was also filled with a warm glow of candles. (no, I'm not Catholic,
it was an additional warmth thing) To make it a truly perfect setting, the air
was filled with the guitar music of Michael Hedges from a cassette player. I
couldn’t have imagined needing another thing. My meal, although quite
simple, was simply marvelous. My soul was as fat and satisfied as my belly.
Yes, that Thanksgiving was a marvelous day for me.
I enjoyed just being alive and being me. My inconvenience and impoverishment
only made the experience richer. I was a king possessing wealth others could
only dream of, while living the life of a pauper.
As long as I live I will fondly remember that cold, drafty, little apartment
and how I enjoyed my Thanksgiving meal by candlelight. (Yes, of course I’m
a romantic.)
No matter how you spend your Thanksgiving
Day, or any day, the memory you take from it is of your own choosing. Sometime
this holiday, look to your reflection and say, “Thank you, for being
who you are.”
Happy Thanksgiving