Well, Thanksgiving has come and gone and here we are back at work. Most of us have probably suffered the turkey and dressing stuffiness that hits all of us. You know, that bloated, overloaded, and almost exploded feeling. I had a great time with my wife's side of the family and our kids and look forward to Christmas.
Of course this time of the year many of us begin to reminisce about times past and a lot of good and bad memories come back to our minds. I can actually say truthfully that, while I have had some sad memories such as missing my parents and other loved ones who have passed away, I have never had a "bad" holiday. Sad, but not bad. We have never had any family squabbles, never got mad at each other… well, well, maybe that is not really true now that I think about it.
Hmmm…it had to be during Thanksgiving. My mind has just wandered way back to my childhood and a certain big, speckled roaster pan. You know the ones I'm talking about. They are generally a dark blue or black pan that will hold a turkey and they have a matching lid. I know you have seen them. Well, I can still remember the day, while sitting at our kitchen table for some unknown reason, my little sister Gail (Gallbladder in my world) got mad at me. I was always a kind, sweet brother and I never aggravated her at all, but for some reason she seemed to get mad at me! I was not into teasing anyone, or picking at them or trying to make them cry. It was not in me to do that! I was always sweet. (You do believe me don't you?) Gail was a small, petite, young girl and didn't weigh as much as a sack of potatoes and she was always high strung and flighty. Instead of moving from one place to another, she seemed to flitter around like a mosquito. Sometimes when she got mad at my sweet disposition, she would jump on my back and pull at my hair because she was so mad at me. I would make polite comments such as "oh, there seems to be a bunch of gnats in the room landing on my back" or maybe "does anyone feel any fleas in the room" and for some reason she just got madder and madder. She couldn't hurt anyone because she was too small and that just made me laugh more and more!
There we were sitting at the kitchen table and the big roaster pan was next to us. I guess she had gotten so fed up with my aggravating her that as my back was turned, she picked up the monstrous big pan and knocked me square right on top of my head! What was really funny is she hit me with the very center of the pan and the pan had enough give to the bottom of it, that all it did was sound off a real big bong that sounded like a church bell and it did not hurt! My mom turned around in shock. The pan had made such a funny, loud noise that all any of us could do is laugh! I think that made my sister a little madder!
That is a memory I will never forget. Some people wonder how I can remember so much stuff from my past and I really don't know, but I have recently met someone else that has a great memory too! Her name is Jasmine. Now, because I have not been able to let Jasmine read this story in advance of its printing, I do not feel comfortable with telling you where she works, but I will say that she works for a large grocery store chain in The Woodlands in a certain coffee shop. I went in one day to buy a pound of coffee and this young lady with a million dollar smile took my order. I like my coffee ground one step back from espresso on their machines. I told her "just turn your machine to espresso and then drop back one notch." That is about all we said to each other. No chit chat, no pleasantries.
About a month later I went back to the same store and got the same coffee and I recognized her smile, but did not know her name. I simply approached the counter and she looked at me with her smile, reached out for my bag of coffee, and said "go all the way to espresso and step back one notch." I was shocked! I was stunned! I could not believe this young lady could remember such things especially after almost a month and hundreds and hundreds of customers in between. I was speechless, but I was able to ask her how she remembered such a thing and all she could do was smile and tell me she did not know how she remembered it, but she did.
With a memory like that, in fifty or sixty years she will sitting around telling her kids and grandkids that same story. They will think she is senile. Join my world! People don't believe half my stories, but they are all true!