FROM MY SOFTER SIDE

What an absolute hell-hole the last nine months have been. The pandemic. Donald Trump. The economy. Donald Trump. Partisanship, and of course, Donald Trump. Or as I refer to him, the "devil incarnate." Living proof that God, if he, she, or it, ever existed, has abandoned us.

We are worn to the bone, in spite of what TV commercials would have us believe. Happy families living in sparkling clean households, getting all their food needs met by delivery…clean, healthy food, mind you. What must that cost, by the way? And hell, how hard is it to cut up fruit for a smoothie? It's not like we don't have the time.

Dumbfounded, we watch ads for an ever-growing list of pharmaceuticals and laughably, for discounted high-fashion apparel like "The RealReal" that portrays anorexic-looking models cavorting around in "affordable couture." Who the ever-loving F Cares? How do I keep it "real?" I put on underwear (no bra, screw bras) and I shower every day. Boom!

We see TV people Zooming and Skyping and FaceTiming as if they didn't have a care in the world. Who gives a damn if we can't hug our loved ones or friends? We have multiple ways to "connect."

Don't get me wrong. It's great that we have the technology to do that, but let's show someone with a puss on every now and then instead of the chiclet grins. Someone who looks as miserable as we're all feeling. That's the "RealReal."

I'm sure I'm speaking for many when I say that, for me, FaceTime will never replace the feeling of my sister and her kids pulling me in close for a good, long, squeeze. Never. But, Aunt Sherry will be keeping her ass at home this year, where it belongs.

But, I'm not the only one filled with longing for a time when a hug wasn't something that could kill us. We're all feeling that pain, that enormous loss. Those of us possessed with rational thought, anyway, who trust the scientists who have told us time and again that we have to rethink this holiday season if we are to stay alive. And, personally, if it comes down to quarantine and social distancing, or a tube down my throat as I struggle to breathe, I know what my "druthers, are."

I survived breast cancer so I'll be damned if I let Covid get me, or my husband.

Originally, my husband and I were going to spend Thanksgiving at my sister's house because it was to be a small gathering. Just six of us. Me and the hubby, my sister, and brother-in-law, and two of their grown children. But, as the news has become ever dire, surreal in and of itself because it's hard to imagine things getting any worse…I grappled with this because, what if, right? What if? Is it worth the risk for a few hours with my family? I wish I could say it was, but there's no way in hell.

So, Thanksgiving will be spent here, at home with just us and our three cats, who frankly, keep us going. And that's okay. I plan to make Greg Prince's pesto turkey recipe, my signature bread stuffing, cranberries, and Brussels Sprouts. I will enjoy some wine but will do my best to keep it in check. As you know, because on several occasions I've spilled the beans, or the grapes if you will, I sometimes go "overboard." But I don't want to wake up on Friday, the day I break out some of the Christmas stuff, in a self-imposed stupor.

To be blunt, it's been tough trying to find the gratitude this holiday season. I know some of you get it. We have to dig down deep, plumb what's left of our reserves, and keep reminding ourselves that things could be worse. Much worse. As I personally don't know anyone who has lost a loved one to the virus, that alone makes me feel blessed. But this situation could change by the day, indeed, the hour.

So, in order to keep my wits about me and not impose my darkness on my husband, who's already down enough as it is, I'm going to give thanks for what I have, especially now, when so many people are struggling to see the light at the end of the proverbial tunnel. I hope it's switched on for them, and soon.

Alright. To begin, I'm thankful to have a substantial roof over my head, in this home in a Chicago suburb where we've lived for twenty years. It's roomy, yet cozy, with a double-sided fireplace that warms the very cockles of my crusty heart.

Our house, a ranch with a huge finished basement (where I bubble and toil every day) is forty years old and needs a lot of work, but, like this old gal, it keeps on keepin' on. There are worse things than needing a new kitchen, or an updated bath. Far worse.

I'm thankful for my husband, who puts up with my quirks and foibles and bad moods and nagging (for his own good, mind you) and my occasional drunken rants, even though he has his own issues and is the first to admit that.

I'm thankful for our three precious cats, who I couldn't love any more if I gave birth to them — and sometimes I feel like I did! Their unconditional love is a gift that lifts me up every day. And I'm thankful that my husband is as much an "animal person" as I am. How do they know when we need a snuggle or a kitty chirp in greeting, or an eye blink that says, "I love you?"

I'm thankful that there's a vaccine on the horizon although the details as to who will be receiving it first, and how, are still a bit murky. We shall see.

I'm thankful that my dentist offers IV Sedation as I have a four-hour appointment looming. Tomorrow, as a matter of fact, to fix a chipped tooth (thanks, popcorn) and also to get a "deep cleaning," which basically is a full-on excavation under the gumline. I may seem like a wuss but I don't need to feel that!

I'm also thankful that the practice allows patients to pay bills over time as these bells and whistles cost a fortune, folks. Of course, if you're one of the writers here who's pulling in ten grand a month, that's not an issue, but it is for us regular folk. Sorry. Couldn't resist that jab, "softer side," regardless.

Finally, I'm thankful for the friends I've made right here on Medium. If it wasn't for you, I would have quit months ago as I'm certainly not earning the bucks. But you guys…you're funny, warm, supportive, wonderfully abrasive when you need to be and brutally honest. My kind of people!

To that point, I supposed I should be thankful for Medium, as well. Not for the pennies jingling in the pockets of my pandemic pants, but for creating this space that has allowed me to connect with so many, talented and supportive writers.

I would dearly love to be able to name you all but, I'd never get my ass out of this chair, plus, I'd bore the crap out of you, but, off the top of my pointy head, let me just say:

"Thank you, Helen Cassidy Page, Kristi Keller, P.G. Barnett, James Knight, Suzanne V. Tanner, Stephen Sovie, Robin Klammer, Sterling Page, Greg Prince, Tracy Stengel, Gayle Kurtzer-Meyers, Randy Shingler, Tina L. Smith, Elle Fredine, Bebe Nicholson, Melissa Bee, Carolyn Riker, Estacious(Charles White), Charlene Fate, Hank Eng, Rasheed Hooda, Gurpreet Dhariwal, Denise Shelton, Sydney Duke Richey, Sylvia Clare MSc. Psychol, Natalie Frank, Ph.D., Kathryn Dillon, Kim McKinney, Dawn Bevier, Don Feazelle, Myriam Ben Salem, Kira Dawn, Amber Blaize, Holly Jahangiri, Amy Sarah, Terry L. Cooper (I knew I'd forget people!) and all the rest of you cats."

"You're a stone-cold bunch of whack-a-doos and I appreciate each and every one of you."

Okay. Time to bounce before I start blubbering. I mean, there's soft, and then there's mush. And I'm not there, yet. Besides, I don't want to ruin my rep.

Thanks for reading, y'all. Have a happy and healthy Thanksgiving.

© Sherry McGuinn, 2020. All Rights Reserved.

Sherry McGuinn is a slightly-twisted, longtime Chicago-area writer and award-winning screenwriter. Her work has appeared in The Chicago Tribune, Chicago Sun-Times, and numerous other publications. Sherry's manager is currently pitching her newest screenplay, a drama with dark, comedic overtones and inspired by a true story.

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