Squawk Radio
Tuesday, November 22, 2005
Liz Reveals Her Secret for a Happier Holiday
Everyone has Thanksgiving horror stories, but few people have more than me. (More on that momentarily.) However, last year, I had a PERFECT Thanksgiving that was one of the most pleasant, most relaxing, just plain wonderful holidays I’ve ever had. And I’m going to let you in on how I achieved such bliss.
My typical (until last year, I mean) Thanksgivings have always contained the necessary ingredients to make each more miserable...ah, I mean memorable...than the one before it. Conservative relative who drinks too much and picks a fight with nearest liberal? Check. Liberal relative who drinks too much and picks a fight with nearest conservative? Check. Relative, having had not a drop to drink, tells off-color jokes that offend, oh, pretty much everybody? Check that. Much-married relative with no kids who knows better than me how to raise my own? Yep, checkarino. Much-married relative whose kids have all moved thousands of miles away from her who knows better than me how to raise my own? Oh, yeah. Check that baby. Relative who bases his decision on whether or not to speak to me according to--from the best that I can figure--whether or not the planets are aligned into the shape of a Boron molecule? Checkaroonie. Belligerent children (not my own) who go through the pockets and purses of those who have had too much to drink and rob them of all their spare change? Checkaroo. And I’m reasonably certain I’m the only one of the Squawkers who has had a holiday erupt in gunfire.
Okay, now then. Take all that resentment and pettiness and anger and offense and obnoxiousness and misanthropy and...and... Where was I? Oh, yeah. Take all that holiday crap and double it. NOW you’ve got my traditional Thanksgiving holiday. (Until last year, I mean.)
Yes, my dear Squawkers, I must endure TWO Thanksgivings every year. One for lunch and one for dinner. One with the in-laws and one with the blood. There’s plenty of misery for everyone that way. At least, there was until last year.
But last year, I found a guaranteed way to survive Thanksgiving with nary a nick to my ego or my person. Last year, I discovered that the holiday really CAN be a celebration of one’s good fortune and an opportunity to count one’s blessings with the people who mean the most to them. Last year, I found the true meaning of Thanksgiving. Last year, I had A LOT to be thankful for.
‘Cause last year, for Thanksgiving, my husband and son and I went to Chicago. Alone.
So is everyone else prepared for Thursday? Anyone got any holiday horror stories they want to get off their chest? Anybody got a ticket to Chicago they’re not using...?
My typical (until last year, I mean) Thanksgivings have always contained the necessary ingredients to make each more miserable...ah, I mean memorable...than the one before it. Conservative relative who drinks too much and picks a fight with nearest liberal? Check. Liberal relative who drinks too much and picks a fight with nearest conservative? Check. Relative, having had not a drop to drink, tells off-color jokes that offend, oh, pretty much everybody? Check that. Much-married relative with no kids who knows better than me how to raise my own? Yep, checkarino. Much-married relative whose kids have all moved thousands of miles away from her who knows better than me how to raise my own? Oh, yeah. Check that baby. Relative who bases his decision on whether or not to speak to me according to--from the best that I can figure--whether or not the planets are aligned into the shape of a Boron molecule? Checkaroonie. Belligerent children (not my own) who go through the pockets and purses of those who have had too much to drink and rob them of all their spare change? Checkaroo. And I’m reasonably certain I’m the only one of the Squawkers who has had a holiday erupt in gunfire.
Okay, now then. Take all that resentment and pettiness and anger and offense and obnoxiousness and misanthropy and...and... Where was I? Oh, yeah. Take all that holiday crap and double it. NOW you’ve got my traditional Thanksgiving holiday. (Until last year, I mean.)
Yes, my dear Squawkers, I must endure TWO Thanksgivings every year. One for lunch and one for dinner. One with the in-laws and one with the blood. There’s plenty of misery for everyone that way. At least, there was until last year.
But last year, I found a guaranteed way to survive Thanksgiving with nary a nick to my ego or my person. Last year, I discovered that the holiday really CAN be a celebration of one’s good fortune and an opportunity to count one’s blessings with the people who mean the most to them. Last year, I found the true meaning of Thanksgiving. Last year, I had A LOT to be thankful for.
‘Cause last year, for Thanksgiving, my husband and son and I went to Chicago. Alone.
So is everyone else prepared for Thursday? Anyone got any holiday horror stories they want to get off their chest? Anybody got a ticket to Chicago they’re not using...?
Elizabeth Bevarly, 10:36 PM
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