For the past several years, I have lived in Virginia (consider myself an adopted Virginian) and Alabama. Unfortunately, in both these lovely places, the weather "turns" generally about Thanksgiving, which means I'm always sick for Thanksgiving. While everyone else is out eating and eating and eating, I'm laying in bed wondering how on earth would I survive without modern medications. I wonder if I would have been "delicate" as they called sickly people in the past or if just one of those sick Thanksgivings would have "done me in."
This past holiday was no exception. I got sick on schedule on the Thursday before and spent Thanksgiving in bed surrounded by three dogs, a concerned dad, tissues, meds and a good book. Thank goodness for old Christmas movies. I attempted to eat but usually at this point everything is tasteless. My dad asked me how many times had I been sick on this particular holiday and which was the worse one. Hmmmm!!! Can’t really answer that one. They’ve all blurred together.
Except there was that Thanksgiving in Utah. The weather had turned several weeks earlier, and I was over my usual sickness. I remember it well. An old bishop from my days at the University of Alabama had moved out there to teach at BYU and asked me and my roommate over. It was wonderful. They had nine great kids, tons of good food, and the whole family sat down together to put together a 1,500-piece puzzle. It was hands down one of the best. Germany was pretty good as well, since again the weather had turned, and I was over being sick. But you know, other than those two, I have been sick each year at Thanksgiving.
So I think next year (since I’ll probably still be in Alabama), I’ll have Thanksgiving a bit early or a bit later. Maybe I can psyche out my semi-yearly aliment (yes, I get it every year in March or April when the weather turns again), which messes up Easter, which is a whole ‘nother irritation.
Isn’t it weird that someone can “plan” on being sick???