NEWSLETTERS

November 2002
©2002 Terri Hendrix

Thanksgiving is ... a slice of pumpkin pie. It's the feeling of being grateful and expressing thanks. It's the day that's been set aside to acknowledge family and friends through gatherings and holiday meals. It's a time for turkeys, stuffing, gravy, Indian corn, holiday parades, football ... and (did I already mention this?) pumpkin pie. It's the day we all send our diets packing and comfortably relax in our biggest pair of overalls (or at least loosen our belts a few generous notches), and if we're lucky, manage to catch part of the Peanut's Thanksgiving Special (Snoopy's finest moment) on cable. For all of these things, I give thanks.

To what else do I give thanks? Well, lots of things. Some simple. Some complex. Foremost, I'm thankful for my health, family, friends, and personal spirituality. On a lighter note, I have a deep appreciation for the smell of freshly cut grass, the sight of rainbows, a good book, the San Marcos Daily Record (not in circulation on Mondays and Tuesdays), and a strong cup of coffee with a slice of pumpkin pie. I'm also grateful for the time I get to spend out on my back porch, enjoying a glass of vino while throwing the ball to my mutt Jessie (I'd say "playing fetch" but he never brings it back) and watching my other dog Carolynn squ-eeeee-zze her pudgy body in and out of the doggy door. In addition, I'm appreciative of modern technology – from the delete key on my computer (I wish my mouth had one), to reliable transportation (dare I forget the ol’ clunker I used to have to pop the clutch on to get started), to the rich sound of Ella Fitzgerald's voice reverberating from my stereo.

Sure, some of this is trite, but I’ve found time and time again that it’s the things I often take for granted that I should be most thankful for. Just as sometimes my fondest memories can spring from where I least expect them.

En route from a festival last month, Lloyd and I stopped off to visit his bright-eyed, 102 year-old Great Aunt Beulah. I’ll be honest -- I didn’t want to go. It was early and I was grouchy and tired and just wanted to sleep in at the hotel and have Lloyd come back to pick me up afterwards. But I’m glad I didn’t get my way. Our visit reminded me once again that it’s the little stops along the journey that make this ride worthwhile.

That morning I was educated on, among other things, the pre Cotton Gin era and the labor-intensive task of separating the cotton from the boll ... by hand. Every day, Aunt Beulah picked that cotton from dawn till dusk or until her hands wore out, and then cared for and fed her family. At the close of our fascinating conversation, we gathered up around the foyer of the nursing home and took out our instruments to perform a few songs for Aunt Beulah and the other residents. Our little hootenanny drew to a close with a rousing rendition of “Yankee Doodle Dandy” led by one of the nurses. One woman who'd been sitting with her head bowed and her hands folded in her lap all morning came to life. She giggled and clapped along with the rest of us. Afterwards, she stood up and gave me the strongest hug she could. "That's the first time I've seen her smile," a nurse remarked.

Two weeks after I heard first-hand about cotton bolls, I played the Cotton Bowl at the State Fair of Texas. Oh, the Cotton Bowl was exciting! Although they didn’t have pumpkin pie, they did have corny dogs (I ate at least six). And the stage for the concert was huge! Each speaker came with its own personal zip code. Road maps were handed out to locate mic placement. As a band, we needed binoculars to see one another and bullhorns to hear casual conversation. But it was a total blast to play through a system that large in front of an appreciative audience. And (whew!) I didn’t have any fumbles playing on that field.

It was an experience I’m sure I’ll never forget. And yet … when I compare the boll and the Bowl, and really think about it here at the close of the month, 102 year old Aunt Beulah and her friends made a much greater impression on me.

To moments ... in whatever size they come ... to pumpkin pie ... and to you, I give thanks.
Warm regards and Happy Thanksgiving,
Terri Hendrix

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