A blessed Thanksgiving to you and yours!

I'm a bird lover and a bird watcher, but there are two nasty territorial crows hanging around trying to scare off Rocket J., the darling squirrel who lives in one of our trees. So I need a scarecrow!

But I need little else. This is the time of giving thanks, and so I do. For my hubby in general, for his full health in particular. For two great kids who picked spouses who complete our family.

For the grandbaby who has totally stolen my heart.

For friends and neighbors who fill our days, and the Lord who sustains us.

For the memories of our sweet Labradors who left us all too soon.

For the loving and loved relatives who will join us on Thursday. They complete us too.

Happy Thanksgiving, everybody!

Ps. The Tim McGraw concert totally rocked. I'll blog about it in depth soon at Petticoats and Pistols. Wait for it!

Tanya Writes About The Pumpkin Patch, Thanksgiving, and well, giving thanks.

Ah, something there is about a child at a pumpkin patch. That goal to get the perfect golden orb. The search, as vital as a long-ago quest for the Holy Grail.

And all of this happening on a blue and gold fall day makes the best memory. --especially when Gramma and Grampa are along for the ride.

The ride this day was on an antique train that took us from Fillmore far out into the country. The grandbaby sat across from me in the red velvet seat cuddling with his grampa. (Their bond is so incredible; I get tears.)


"Choo choo move," he told me earnestly. At the sound of the clang at the crossing, his little mouth made a perfect O; his tiny fingers at his ears.

"Trees!" he shouted in glee as we travelled along. "Bridge" as we crossed a creek.

Once there, there was no stopping the little guy. Scarecrows, cornstalks higher than his tall handsome daddy. Merry-go-round and hoppity-hop balls. And pumpkins big as moons. Of course he ran to the largest one, threw his arms around it...and was steered to one more his size. (You could select any size but had to take it yourself on your lap back on the train. In this case, size did matter.)

The little fam posed atop one for a portrait that's making its way into my Christmas letter. Toddlers everywhere flew past, gabbing in their adorably peculiar wordless language.

For lunch, the grandbaby devoured a cob of corn, his tiny perfect teeth gnawing with gusto. His mommy laughed, the afternoon breeze blowing her blond hair across her pretty face. "I didn't know he'd like it so much. And now corn season is all but over."

But we did manage some corn for Thanksgiving dinner. A day of days to thank God for health, for salvation, for the strength He gave us to get through this past year. To thank Him for the presence and safe travels of our new in-laws-to-be.

Last January, when my hero's cancer diagnosis hit us like bricks in the chest, he held me and said, "I want to watch that little boy grow up. I want to walk my daughter down the aisle someday."

He's getting his wish. He's well. The grandbaby is growing like a weed...two years old next week. And our daughter got engaged last Friday in The Most Romantic Proposal Ever.

So much to be thankful for. So much to look forward to.

So much more life to live.


Up next: The Most Romantic Proposal Ever

Tanya Writes About Friends...and Ralph Waldo Emerson

Oh, I haven't blogged for a while. Sometimes it seems pointless, but we did take a little trip last week. And came home to some disquieting things.

Our elderly boy black Lab, Seau, seemed to be in a major decline. Maybe due to losing Marley a while back. Likelier, the hip displasia. Oh, he's so pretty, a perfect storybook dog...and it's the damnable generations of inbreeding that weakened his hip joints. I told my hero I just can't bear to say good-bye to him, not now. Not this year. He weakly joked that the year had sucked enough already so why not a slam dunk.

Then we just learned someone dearly special to us just got laid off. Along with millions of others in this hellhole of an economy, but it really hurts when it's someone you love.

Cancer reared is ever-ugly head. Richard awaits apprehensively for the results of tests. Stacey is holding Thanksgiving dinner next week--her FIL's cancer came back and he needs hasty surgery.

Baby Aiden (18 months) and Jackie (29) both face brain tumors.

Oh well. I could go on and on and on and on and on about awful things. And I likely would have stayed in this funk if my hero hadn't said this morning: things tend to work out.

And if the comic pages of the newspaper hadn't featured one of my all-time favorites: Waldo.

No. Not the Where's Waldo guy. Ralph Waldo Emerson, who was called that by his clique of Transcendentalists.

It appeared in my favorite (and probably the only comic strip I read)--Mutts. The pup's running through a sunny field with this quote:

I awoke this morning with devout thanksgiving for my friends, the old and the new. --Ralph Waldo Emerson

So I thought about those who have so enriched me, who gladden my spirits. Who got us through this dreadful year.

There's Andy whom I've never actually met in the flesh. He lives across the Pond in Ireland. But a TC loop brought us together earlier this year. He never fails to send me a funny joke or cheer me on as my hero's "heroine."

Terri and I met several years ago at "Maxine's Literary Cafe," a group of writers who gathered every few weeks for critique. Right now she's got a romantic suspense stalker-story in the works that is based on her own experiences! I do help her edit and wow, it's a stunner. But that's not the reason I include her today. We only met those few times, with weeks off in between, but she is a cancer survivor, too, and she kept track of my hero's BEP protocol. E-mailing me just when I needed an encouraging word the most. God bless you, Terri.

Maxine herself is one of Earth's most special people. My hero adores her...and not just for the cookies she always sends him or the picnic basket full of wine, food and flowers she left on the porch one day while he suffered at chemo. She's spunky, spirited, a true optimist. And she's a gifted poet.

Our next door neighbors, whom we've known for over two decades, make life so much better. Not just helping us with the chemo and cancer and dark times. Just every day things. Like coming over and watching TV with Seau while we were gone, making sure he was okay.

Karen, friend of almost four decades, has metastatic breast cancer and that nasty gunk just won't leave her liver alone. Yet she is ever cheerful, crowing about her newest grandbaby, another one who kept track of all the chemo, sending prayers and love.

And last but not least, my Roberta and Timmy. Sister and BIL of anybody's dreams. Every week during my hero's ordeal, they were here. Presents, food, love and hugs. Prayers that never stopped.

As for Seau, the vet had some new treatments to try, and our pup is hanging in. (The vet and we are in agreement: no heroics. Always compassion and dignity and quality of life. So far, so good!)

And Richard reminds me of something so important: One day at a time. Even if it's sometimes just one moment a time.

Thanks to everybody who enriches my life. Waldo isn't the only lucky one.