I learned that I’m a worrier. Everything that gave me angst before Thanksgiving turned out to be nothing.
“But she’ll ask about the ___,” I worried.
She didn’t ask.
“He’ll wonder where the check is,” I worried.
Nothing was said.
“S. will back off,” I worried.
She didn’t.
“The food won’t be just right,” I worried.
The food was delicious.
“We won’t have enough room,” I worried.
We had plenty of room, and more.
Lesson? Don’t worry. It adds stress. It’s unnecessary.
Thanksgiving couldn’t have been more wonderful. My sister-in-law and her husband arrived on the train Wed. night and stayed until yesterday. What a great time we had with them. I finally located an old carousel slide projector so we could look at slides of my husband, his five siblings, and their parents, from when the kids were small. J. was a tremendous help in the kitchen. J. and C. were comfortable in the bedroom we gave them, easy guests, fun. The right teams won football games, for the most part. The grandchildren were sweet. Our older granddaughter played the piano for everyone and was duly rewarded with applause and compliments. Our younger granddaughter zoomed little cars around, hugged teddy bears, and happily went from lap to lap. Our grandson, a teenager, hung with the men watching football, spending time on Facebook with his friends, said the grace before our meal.
How much I have to be grateful for.
And I am.
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