Fleen: The Awkward Christmas Dinner Of Our Obligation To Existence

For those of you not in the precincts of the Greater Statesian Freedomparty, you probably have little care that it’s Thanksgiving tomorrow (and if you’re in Canadia, you still wonder why we’re six weeks late on this deal). Nevertheless, I’m going to share some things that I’m reasonably grateful for, as I intend to take tomorrow the hell off (and maybe Friday, too). So, in no particular order, this year I’m grateful because:

JRo doesn’t hate me for whatever degree of complicity my ancestors have in screwing over his.
Ursula Vernon recognizes scams when she sees them and is willing to call shenanigans for the benefit of others.
I’ve met a lot of really cool people since I started writing this blog, and this year I met a few more of them face-to-face for the first time.
With any luck, I will qualify for Enemies List 3B again this year. Happy Birthday, Jon!
By this time tomorrow, I expect to be reading a promised Thanksgiving Day update of Octopus Pie while consuming my thirty-seventh serving of actual pie. It won’t be baked by my niece C, but I’m beyond thankful that her heart surgery yesterday went well. If you’ll pardon my language for just a moment, she’s baddassery personified; the rest of that yellow wristband reads OF KICKING YOU IN THE FACE.
Finally, perhaps most of all, I’m thankful that my brother and sister came through their auto accident with manageable injuries. I don’t think I ever gave a full accounting, but that accident added up to two paramedics, fourteen trauma docs, surgeons, nurses, and PAs, two broken femurs, one broken knee, one hip socket punch-through (or acetabular, for those of you that like medical terminology) fracture, one C7 flexion-rotation (grab one of your neck bones and give it a good spin on your spinal cord), three weeks in [S]ICU, about 18 weeks of in-patient rehab, half a year (and counting) of outpatient rehab, lots of really good drugs, one halo immobilization rig, one case of MRSA, a metric crapload of really strong antibiotics, two power drills, two Rascal™ brand mobility scooters, four crutches, two canes, a walker, 11 months of disability, one totalled Saturn, another vehicle whose final disposition I don’t know, and a total bill that likely approaches the price of my house.
It’s been a hell of a long journey, neither of them is walking entirely on their own, but they’re alive, neurologically intact, and

I

am

thankful.

Now if you’ll excuse me, there’s bread starter to mix up.

Thankful

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