decisions, decisions

So, I'm not sure what to do for Thanksgiving this year. We have a tradition: I cook the whole, big, shebang of a meal — turkey, mashed potatoes, corn, stuffing, yams, cornbread, and some sort of dessert. My daughter gets unexplicably depressed (no one ever knows why), and cries so much she can't eat any of what I cook...which makes her even sadder because I went to all the trouble of making a huge, delicious-smelling meal. And then I spend the evening nibbling on the food by myself and save a big portion for her to eat the next day when she snaps out of it.

I know...it doesn't sound very festive, but it's the way we do it at my house. Almost every year. And I enjoy cooking and eating the meal. And I'm not excited about driving eight and a half hours to be with other family members during one of my favorite holidays...because they'd probably drag me off to someone else's house that I don't know. And, for some reason, I don't want to hang out with friends during this holiday, either. Thanksgiving is Family Time...no matter how depressed they might be.

When I was growing up, I was a "pest." I was the youngest; nine years younger than my closest sibling, so my mom's only desire for me on Thanksgiving (and most other days, come to think of it) was to stay out of the way. So, while my mom and sisters hung out in the kitchen cooking and baking with my aunts or grandma or whoever else happened to come over that year, my dad took me out "exploring." That was his word for hiking, and it really is a better word, don't you think? It sounds so much more adventurous. He'd pack a few apples and some water, and we would bundle up on that cloudy, chilly, brown fall day and hit the nearby hills and forests to see what we could find. He was a bit of a naturalist, so he would teach me the names of plants and the various types of clouds. We'd discover fox dens and animal tracks and it wasn't anything like being in school. He made it exciting. "Well, look at this! What do you think this is? Yes, it looks like an animal might've been here. What kind? Maybe if we're really quiet, we can see it. Shhhh....it looks like he went this way. Maybe we can sneak up on him." We would be out there for most of the day, stopping half-way through our walk to rest and eat the apple he would slice with his ever-present pocket knife. By the time we got back to the house, it would be dusk. Our cheeks were nice and rosy, and my mom would be mad because they were "ready to eat an hour ago!"

Maybe this is why I love Thanksgiving so much. Those are some of the best memories I have of my dad. This is a holiday for him and I to go exploring. It's a holiday filled with the aroma of cooked turkey, of spending time outdoors, of rosy cheeks and good food. But since he's been gone and my daughter has been born, I've started my own tradition of cooking the meal just for the two of us. Not quite as exciting, but fun nonetheless...and a person just can't cook the meal and go hiking at the same time. So this worked out great for many years...until she started with the Annual Depression a little while back. And this year, she says she doesn't even want to try. "Don't cook the meal, Mom. I don't think I want to come over this year. It's just always a bad time of year for me. I don't know why. You should go spend it with other family."

But it just won't be as warm or as cozy. And it's only a few weeks away. Time passes quickly, and if I'm going out of town, I'm going to have to plan ahead...so, I have to decide what to do with myself in a few weeks. Here are the choices as I see them:

• Stay home. Take myself for an early-morning hike. Cook the meal for myself. Save the boatload of leftovers I'm sure to have for my daughter (who is always grateful to eat them).



• Go spend the day with friends.



• Drive all day to spend it with family I haven't seen in a few years. (This would entail leaving the cat home alone for a few days. Cats are basically low maintenance...as long as I leave her enough food & water she'll probably be fine. But I know she would be lonely and I would worry about her the whole time.) (Oh...and my car needs work. I'm not so sure it would be happy making the 1200 mile round trip drive.)

And there we have it. Decisions, decisions.