Barbara J. Hamby

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Thanks

Breathes there the person with soul so dead
who actually sat down and read
all of the ads in the Thanksgiving newspaper?

I recycled 90% of them. We just don’t need more things. I kept the grocery ads.

In the spirit of Thanksgiving, it’s occurred to me how thankful I should be to the person who invented the television remote control. I would have to give up watching totally if I couldn’t squelch the shouting characters who deliver commercial messages. I can’t imagine I’m the only person in the universe who vows never to purchase any item that’s advertised by someone screaming at me.

Then, too, there are also the sports announcers with all their fake enthusiasm. I overdosed on that during my fist marriage. There was a baseball announcer in Seattle who had the most annoying, nasal voice I’ve ever heard. I can still remember his name, although he’s probably long gone:  Leo Lassen. My then husband was a baseball fan and listened to every Rainiers’ game. There were no remotes or earphones then, so I listened also, unless I escaped to shop or run errands.

Our Thanksgiving group may or may not gather today. There is flu (probably H1N1 or swine flu, as it’s called) among the relatives. So, if the granddaughter, who had a sore throat and a temperature last night, isn’t better today, we will probably stay home. We are not eligible for the scarce vaccine that’s available—yet.

We will still enjoy the holiday. We went to breakfast at our neighborhood Shari’s this morning. Their breakfast business was light, but pies were selling like hotcakes. I brought home a pumpkin pie for our Sunday dinner.

Our housekeeper is cleaning our apartment as I write this, so we’ll be in good shape to have our dinner party on Sunday.

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