Crazy Turkeys and the Running That Follows

Thanksgiving is one of my favorite holidays. I like many different holidays for many different reasons, but shy of Easter (which moves around too much for my liking) and Christmas (which has usurped my birthdays enough times for me to develop an unhealthy complex toward it), Thanksgiving is one of the biggest and best reasons to gather 'round with loved ones and stuff one's self silly. With tryptophan-laden turkey and garlic mashed potatoes waltzing with stuffing and green-bean casserole inside my happy tummy, to be joined by rowdy champagne and seductive fudge until the guest star pumpkin pie arrives with vanilla ice cream on his arm... a veritable party in my insides to echo the raucous laughter and warm conversations with friends and family alike.

I had a strange undertone to this year's festivities that I didn't much care for. I felt guilty because I couldn't spend the holiday with my parents, who held a Thanksgiving Dinner for themselves alone in their far off northland. No matter how much fun I was having, I couldn't shake the bitter taste in the back of my throat from trying to swallow my regrets that I couldn't be there. I love my parents (which apparently makes me something of a strange breed) and enjoy spending time with them. I miss them and try to visit when I can, but let's face it: my last abode was a 7-hour drive away from them, and I didn't move closer. One might think - based on locale - that I have tried to distance myself as far from my parents as possible, but that would be entirely off course. The simple facts line up in two areas: employment, and climate.

So despite the awesome that was the holiday, a sadness still weighs heavily on me, far outstripping the fudge or pie.

Now, with a sneeze, a blink, and a "bless you", we're heading full-tilt into December, where Christmas looms large and imposingly demanding its annual tithe in the form of a gift list. And it's run-run-run to see people, eat food, go places, get presents, wrap and send boxes... and it becomes a wild goose chase that begins with a turkey.

What happened to my summer?