I was standing in line at a sporting goods store this evening. What possessed me to walk into a sporting goods store to begin with is completely beyond me. No, that's not true. We were looking for a coffee maker. And not the sort of coffee maker you find in a high end electronics store, or a kitchen store. Mike wanted a campfire percolator to make coffee over an open flame. Not that we're planning on going camping until, at least, spring. But as you well know, in the event of a zombie apocalypse, there might not be any other way to make coffee, and man can not exist on beer alone.

As it happens, the camping aisle was completely out of coffee makers (I can't imagine why) so we found ourselves perusing the aisles for whatever else might catch our eyes.

I didn't find anything I needed or wanted, until I discovered the peanut M&Ms in the checkout lane, (just wait, I'll get there) but Mike weaved his way through aisle after aisle in search of a pair of running pants to train for his upcoming Warrior Dash adventure race (I will keep you posted on the insanity that is the Warrior Dash as it gets closer to spring.)

With the efficiency of a man on a mission in a department store, Mike grabbed a pair of compression pants and we made our way to the roped off section leading to the cashiers like we were waiting for in line for a ride at Disney.

The crowd of holiday shoppers packed the store, making it nearly impossible to move without pressing up against someone, especially in the checkout lane. With less than nine full shopping days left til Christmas, there were only three registers running, and I suspect this was a calculated ploy to entice shoppers to snatch up those last minute impulse buys. Like peanut M&Ms.

Or wool socks.

Have you ever really looked at a pair of thick wool socks? At first glance, they don't appear as if they'd fit inside a pair of shoes. Like if you put them on, your feet would suddenly be twice as wide and bulge out of your shoes like a pregnant belly after a holiday meal. But put those same wool socks inside a nice pair of winter boots, and well...perfection.

When I was a young child, my dad had a drawer filled with an assortment of thick wool socks. At the time, they seemed enormous. As if my entire leg could be swallowed up by each one, and, in fact, I would pull them on, drawing them all the way up my thighs like a pair of tights. My sister and I used to steal Dad's socks and take them to the freshly polished floors of the large dining room to "skate".

With my mother's worn but well-loved Elvis Presley Christmas album playing on the family stereo, my sister and I would skate around the dining room for hours, watching the snow flakes fly outside the large picture window.

If Dad noticed his socks were vanishing, he never said anything, and if Mom knew, she kept quiet. I suspect it was because we were adding a final shine to the polished floors that never looked better than during a heavy snow.

I picked up a pair of those socks at the sporting goods store tonight. I don't know if I'll ever wear them, or if I'll just leave them in my top drawer as a constant reminder of snowy days and shiny floors.

Until the next time...I'll wrapping the gifts I bought tonight.

Well, it’s here. Thanksgiving. And I’m happy to say, after several years of my mom spending the holiday up north with extended family, she’ll be spending tomorrow at my house. So she’ll be here to remind me how to make the stuffing. And the pies. And the gravy. And I’ll turn my back so she can pretend she’s stealing the turkey’s liver and heart, like she had to do with her siblings (something no one else in this house would eat anyway.)

I’m sure it will be a great day from the moment we stuff the bird until the moment we discover we’re too stuffed to eat another bite.

But as much as my Thanksgiving will be perfectly normal and chaotic, this will be a difficult holiday for many.

My thoughts go out to my ex-husband and my children, still feeling the loss of my former mother-in-law who recently passed. And to my sister’s ex-husband who lost his father this week after a long battle with cancer.

Over the years, I have spent many a holiday with Uncle Paul, as we still call my sister’s ex-husband. And those just happen to be some of the most memorable holidays of my adult life. There was one Thanksgiving when my mother almost dropped the turkey as she was pulling it out of the oven. Uncle Paul “goosed” her while her back was turned. There was also the year everyone descended on my former in-laws for Christmas. My ex-husband’s parents had never been exposed to Uncle Paul’s antics, so they were not prepared for his little “pranks.” Uncle Paul discovered a way to cause the showers to blast either cold or hot water by strategically flushing toilets and running the hose in the yard just as someone in the house was shampooing their hair. There was a lot of screaming going on that year.

But I suppose the most interesting holiday spent with Uncle Paul was one I didn’t even witness first hand. It was the year Uncle Paul decided to take my parents out for a special Thanksgiving dinner.

He and my sister were still married at the time, and looking back, this may have had something to do with why they aren’t married anymore.

Paul was an Air Force recruiter in their small town, and when he came home to announce that he was given tickets to a fancy Thanksgiving dinner for the whole family, everyone was thrilled. My divorced parents were both scheduled to have dinner with them that year, so going out for dinner seemed like a very special treat. Everyone got dressed up. The tickets promised a formal multicourse meal with all the trimmings.

When they arrived at the banquet hall, they were pleased to see the holiday decorations and pretty lights everywhere, and they could smell the wonderful cooking coming from inside, but as they entered the ballroom, the tables were dressed in holiday finery, but the other guests were not. In fact, the other guests looked as if they hadn’t recently bathed, or eaten for that matter.

It was a dinner for the homeless.

My sister was mortified. As were my parents. Especially when they were seated at large banquet tables surrounded by the unwashed masses. I’m sure they felt very awkward eating food that was probably meant for other unfortunate people who had nowhere to go on the holiday. But I’m also sure they were very gracious about the whole thing. I just really wish I had been there. I would have loved to have seen their faces. But I’ve been there for so many other holidays with Uncle Paul, I’m sure I can imagine.

My thoughts go out to those who have lost loved ones so close to the holiday season…and those who have someone they dearly miss as a day of thanksgiving draws so close.

Until the next time…I’ll be getting stuffed…I mean…you know what I mean!