. . . An Obama presidency. If Sarah Palin had been elected Vice President, I think I would have . . . well, now I don’t have to.
. . . My blog, which is now over a year old. Happy Anniversary to me!
. . . My husband. He never ceases to amaze me. He is the most sanguine, chill person I know who doesn’t smoke weed.
. . . My friends. They suffer my failure to keep in touch and still keep me within their circles. They are the most non-judgmental people I know, although they will check me when I need it.
. . . My new home, the purchase of which has been one of numerous recent distractions keeping me from my blog. Now I’m trying to decide whether I want to work on getting all my younger nieces and nephews into homes of their own, because the wealth transfer that home ownership represents is too enormous for young parents to ignore. Plus, it’s so nice to be able to actually attach contact paper to the shelves, put holes in the wall, and plant whatever I damn well please without having to account to anyone.
. . . My job. I’m not always thrilled by the confrontational aspect of being an attorney, but in these uncertain times, I’d rather be employed. I’ve been unemployed, and it ain’t no party, not by a long shot.
. . . My blessings. For some reason, God continues to bless me even when I don’t expect it and don’t have a clue that a blessing is on its way. I’ve been down to my last few dollars, only to have refund checks I wasn’t expecting arrive in the mail. I agonized about how we would afford to get in our new home, and God sent my husband and me a heavenly mortgage broker who not only got us in, but got us a 30 year-fixed at a great rate. Just when I think I’m on the ropes, He comes through. As my dad always says, He may not come when you call him, but He’s always right on time. Are atheists as blessed, and, if so, to what do they attribute their blessings?
. . . My parents. I look at today's youth, and even at some of my contemporaries, and I can tell that many of them didn't grow up in a two-parent loving home. That's not to say that our family wasn't dysfunctional, but we were lovingly dysfunctional. I think my mom put the "fun" in dysfunctional.
. . . My siblings. I’ve been blessed to have been surrounded by siblings who are smarter, more clever, bolder, and funnier than me. Just talking to them makes me step up my analytical game and teaches me more than I’ve ever taught them or can ever hope to.
. . . My dog. She recently survived cancer and a tail amputation, and although the late-night barking does get on my nerves, the prospect of losing her while moving into our new home was more than I could bear. Since she had been a shelter dog – twice -- I wanted her to have a home of her own, too, as much as I was getting my own home. So if she kills the backyard lawn with her urine, so what? It’s her lawn to kill.
. . . My gifts. For whatever reason, I still have some creativity left that wasn’t drained out of me in my quest to become a lawyer. And no matter how many of my ideas I give away or get stolen from me, I always seem to come up with new ones. And some of them are good, too.
. . . My credit. Quite frankly, I don’t know what my FICO score is, but it was good enough to get BMNB and me into a new house in times of tightened credit. Having good credit is not a substitute for savings, but it is a backstop in difficult times.
. . . Teddy Kennedy’s continued survival. I’m so glad he lived to see Obama elected president. His brother Robert predicted the possibility of an African American president 40 years ago, and if he couldn’t live to see it, at least Teddy did. I hope Senator Kennedy is front and center at the inauguration, along with Caroline Kennedy.
. . .Michelle Obama. Finally, an African American woman who doesn’t fit the stereotype, won’t allow herself to be defined by others, and who has to be taken seriously be virtue of the position she holds. The office of First Lady is never, ever going to be the same.
. . . That I’m not cooking Thanksgiving Dinner. In a just world, women everywhere would sit on their collective behinds and watch Oprah reruns while men slave over hot stoves and ovens stuffing seasoned bread up a turkey’s ass and fretting over the flakiness of their pie crusts . . .
Happy Thanksgiving. And if you’re going to have a Happy Thanksgiving, remember those who aren’t and do a little something for them, too.
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