Thanksgiving is over, but the memories will be lasting. I had a wonderful reason to be extra happy this Thanksgiving. I celebrated, along with my husband Augie, 60 years of marriage. And hope to continue adding to that number.
Hey, I'm not perfect and neither is he, but together through thick or thin we got to this point. Augie is a perfectionist, which at times can be unbearable. But let something happen to me or his family and he is there completely.
We started out obviously at a young age. Kids today aren't even thinking of getting marry at an early age. Things change. We were in love and still are. Don't get me wrong we can easily disagree but always work through it. We were fortunate to have four wonderful children. The memories are endless.
Carol was our first born. We were estatic. She was beautiful with dark hair and looked just like her daddy. Less than three months later I was pregnant again. I thought how could I love another child as much as I did my first born. How wrong I was. From the moment Donna was born I had that same warm, love feeling.
Two years later another baby was on the way. This time Augie was wishing for a son. His wish came true when Paul was born. I think we had a smile on our faces for at least two months. Then came a miscarriage, which I thought had to be something I did until the doctor told me it was nature's way of disposing of a fetus that wasn't completely correct.
But not long after I was pregnant with Dan. Paul, who was three at the time, told everyone the day he was born that he had big ears and "whed" (red) hair. He also had brown eyes. My other three children had my bluest eyes and my husband would joke with me that if this one "doesn't have brown eyes" (like his), I'm claiming a foul. So, he not only got his wish of brown eyes, but a bonus, red hair that like his great-grandmother had. It's amazing how nature works.
So, as you can see I had a major reason for celebrating Thanksgiving with at least two of my children - the other two live too far away, but did call to let us know they were thinking of us.
Donna worked her fingers to the bone to make a wonderful Thanksgiving dinner. And, Dan did the same. He too loves to cook. We all had our instructions in advance. I was to bake the pies and make the sweet potatoes that I am famous for.
Donna did the (delicious dressing, the turkey and yummy mashed potatoes and gravy) and Dan, who his noted for his antipasto, created a masterpiece, and added an extraordinary mix of Brussel sprouts, fresh green beans and chestnuts that were sauteed to prefection.
 Donna also did most of the cleaning up. I owe her so much.
Well, that's all folks - a Thanksgiving and anniversary to remember.

I think I'm being overly sensitive, but I'm tired of people calling me "Sweetie." Ok, they could be whispering "what a pain in the neck she is" or something along those lines.
Actually, just because I'm older and in my "Golden Years" I still want to be called Jeannette or Mrs. Jordan but not Sweetie. I guess if someone doesn't know you enough that's their way of responding.
I know it is trivial. In fact, there are far more things to think about. But it seems like everytime I'm on the phone with a doctor's office or even if I ask for help with my groceries when I'm in a supermarket I get the same reply: "Thank you Sweetie." Or sure Sweetie we can get someone to help you to your car. It certainly isn't disrespectful, but when I was younger - like in my 50s - no one called me Sweetie. Up until recently I always managed to bring my groceries to the car. In fact, I'm sure I will be doing it again.
I had a couple of procedures on my back and was told not to lift. I'm only following instructions. In the meantime, Sweetie, let me feel younger and not ready to leave this earth. I do not feel older even if my birth certificate says I was born in 1932. I volunteer and still able to write a blog, bake, cook, do dishes, clean house and go shopping.
So from now on let's think twice before calling me or any other older person "Sweetie." C'mom, does anyone out there have a better name? How about "Deary." Only kidding!