Last week, I worked on getting all of Blair's remaining belongings packed up in her bedroom. After all, she has been gone from here for 2 1/2 years. Mamas don't ever make their children take all of their belongings at once. No, moving out of her house is always done in steps. That way, she can have time to process the separation, while you're working your way up to a place big enough to hold all of these worldly possessions which are taking up space in her house. It works out pretty good for everybody for a while.

When a kid first moves out, it's usually to go to college or some type of career preparation. There could be a good bit of moving in and out during this period and so a mother's clearing out options are really limited at this point. There could be some paring down, but she is really unable to make too many changes at this time due to the fact that you're still a dependent and, well, your parents' house is your home base. She wouldn't have it any other way. She wants your room to still feel familiar when you come visit for the summer or the weekend, so she will be content to look at your tacky poster collection, while you're off being educated- knowing that she may be living with you, some day, and it is in her best interest that you do well.

After graduation, when your situation becomes less fluid, she'll expect more of your things to go home with you to your new place. At first, she starts to reclaim some of your old closet space. Each time you visit, she leaves another box by the door to be sure it gets in the car to go home with you. She may still be housing some of your wedding gifts, your weight set, your golf clubs, or maybe your off season clothes as she is a reasonably reasonable person and realizes you might not have a lot of extra space during this starting out period. Beware, however, as her patience won't hold out indefinitely.  

After some time has passed, she starts having a new and glorious vision for your room and your spelling bee trophies, tennis rackets, and dried up prom corsages aren't in it. She'll need space for a new treadmill in her beautiful home gym. Or a newly appointed craft area for her new Cricut or embroidery machine. Maybe she's looking at guest room furniture and starts spackling all of your poster holes. Or she starts envisioning your room as her home office with all of its natural light. Whatever she's got in mind, one day, you're innocently scrolling through Facebook and there you see your childhood furniture posted on the local buy, sell, or trade page. The furniture that grew up with you and held so many memories- right there listed with all the weed eaters, stairmasters, and tractor implements. When money starts being exchanged for your childhood memories, this is when you know she is getting ready to activate her plan.
 
Once a legally binding document solidifies that you are no longer a resident of her household and you are not coming back, she will move forward more aggressively with her evacuation plan. Qualifying documents include, but are not limited to, a marriage license, a home mortgage, a driver's license listing an address other than hers, and/or tax documents which indicate that you are making more money than your parents are. When any of these occur, she does not plan to be your climate control storage unit for much longer. Verbal warnings become more frequent and a bit more serious in tone.You know you have entered this final phase when she demands that you take your yearbooks. The transfer of yearbook guardianship signals that you are officially moved out. This is the final step of your leaving the nest. From this point on, your mother is certain that you will find the accommodations in the new guest room quite suitable and most comfortable when you come home to visit. Also, the home gym is just down the hall in the room where you grew up and is open 24 hours a day for your fitness convenience. And if you need to make a copy or scan a document or send a fax during your stay, the home office is there to your left where your brother grew up.

Oh, it's not so bad. Your mother remembers when her mother did it to her. After years of asking nicely, there came a day when the phone rang and her mama wasn't playing around anymore. It likely went something like- "I want you to come get this stuff TODAY. I want it out of here. If you don't want it then just get rid of it, but I can't keep it here another day." And just like that, your mother had completed all the steps of moving out as she picked up her yearbooks and wedding dress in its acid-free chamber from your grandmother's house.       

If you're just starting out, remember that your mother loves you and, oh, how she misses you being her little dumpling. You are her world. Her pride and joy. Her flesh and blood. There is nothing she wouldn't do for you. She'd give her very life for yours. She has cried many, many tears, over time, as her heart has struggled to let you go...……..but she's worked through all that now and she just needs you to come get the rest of your junk. So, go help your mama out. She's about to start filling that space up with more stuff, which you'll be left to deal with after she's gone. It's the circle of life.

Have a good week, friends.

I'd almost finished a blog post, last week, when I got word that a precious friend of our family had just died. I'd known him as long as I can remember from the church, where I grew up. He and his wife gave me my first "real job" after college. Both of my brothers worked for him in their younger years. He was also one of my Daddy's very best buddies and the thought of them being together again has given me a lot of comfort, these last few days. His life intersected with the life of my family at many points and we're all the better for it. Just as it will for all of us, age had, in recent years, taken many things from him and so the news didn't come as a surprise. But, I thought it would be more respectful not to post, last week, because, sometimes, the most appropriate thing we can be is quiet.

It seems like I've written a good deal, in recent months, about people who've passed away. Whether in a card, on social media, or here, I've used my words to express the love I have for a person, who's no longer here to hear them. The words mostly help me process the loss for myself and express to the family the joys and blessings I received from having their loved one in my life.  

The older I get and the more loss I experience, though, the more urgency I have in wanting to tell others what it is about them that draws me to love and admire them, while they're still here to listen. In this incredibly negative world where we live, everyone is starving for a morsel of encouragement, motivation, and affirmation. Something to offset the blows this cold place can deal us. An anti-venom for the vile negativity that strikes so often. A shot in the arm when the meanness of the world sickens our spirits. A few words just to fill our dry tanks, so we can all make it to where we're going. 

This weekend, someone told me something that breathed so much life into me that I can't even explain it. It wasn't anything elaborate or earth-shaking or even anything I'd never heard before. It was just a well-timed word that I was needing to hear at that moment. Unknowingly, the person changed my whole outlook and my whole day. My steps became quicker and my eyes brighter. My mind was reset and my soul was inspired. It was a timely reminder of what a difference encouraging words can make and how we need them from each other now- not after we're gone.   

Before Carson left for college, we got in his room to pack some things and to clean out, too. He'd outgrown a lot of clothes and some school papers from his freshman year were determined to be obsolete. There were some socks without mates and t-shirts with holes. Then, I found a stack of index cards in his drawer that were held together with a rubber band. I didn't pay any attention to what they were- I just asked if they were something that could go in our trash pile. He immediately gave me a definitive, "No!" He said the cards were from a youth trip, where they each wrote words of encouragement and commendation to everyone in the group and he wanted to keep them.

He gave me permission to look at them, so I unwrapped the rubber band and sat down on his bed to read. Note after note after note, his church friends gave him affirmation and listed the qualities that made him loveable to them. They talked about the good things that made him who he is and the endearing attributes they admired in him. They expressed love and friendship to my son. And that son, who isn't an overly sentimental guy, wanted to make sure I didn't do away with those old, tattered, dog-eared index cards. They meant a great deal to him. They represented all that his peers found to be good in him. He'd kept the cards for a couple of years in his nightstand next to his bed. I don't know for sure, but my guess is that when he was feeling low or heavy-hearted or just a bit unsure of himself, he'd take them out and let the uplifting words pour over him like a warm, soothing bath. That is the power of encouragement.

We all heard the sad news about Kobe Bryant and his young daughter on Sunday. None of us know when those final words will be written and said about us or the people we love. The words come sooner for some than for others. One thing's for sure though- they won't hear them then.

So, say it now.

Write it now.

Show it now.

Share Jesus now.

 

 

Today, at lunch, I had someone ask about the blog and I told her I was having trouble letting go of the holiday schedule. You know that week or so after Christmas when so very little is expected of a person? During that time period, it's not necessary to know what day of the week it is and it's even expected that you'll need to pause to remember the year. Days may pass without leaving the house or speaking to anyone who's not listed as your next of kin. Putting on real pants, which are void of Lycra or those with any sort of fastening device is something that's not even considered during this interval. Productivity is optional and no one thinks anything of it if they don't hear a peep from you. I so enjoy times in which little is expected, because I'm particularly good at meeting expectations when they're found in such low lying areas. That's why I'm having sort of a time of mourning for that wonderfully unique time of year.

But, we can't live in that place forever, so, last week, I began to slowly put my life back together. I tried to shower before supper time and started practicing wearing a bra again for my big reentry into society. I planned a couple of outings with friends to knock the cobwebs off of my social skills. I put on pants that buttoned and tried to reintroduce my eyes to the sunlight. I struggled to remember how to cook without cream cheese, sour cream, or heavy cream and got back on the treadmill with some irregular regularity.
Now, this week, dress rehearsal is over and it's time to get back to real life. So, here I am, but everyone knows if you overwork muscles you haven't used in a while, you might pull something if you're not careful, so we'll start slow.

I always look at the beginning of a new year like the first day of school. I always loved the first day of school. The big decisions had been made about book bags, lunch boxes, and three ring binder color- or Trapper Keeper if your mom was a big spender. The paste jar was fresh and full and the applicator stick was new and not all bent. The markers were loaded and full of colorful potential. The pencil erasers were unmarred and the wood bore no teeth marks yet. The crayons had a clean, sharp point and the wrappers were neatly hugging each one. Everyone started out with things looking up for a perfect year. So many plans and intentions to do our best and ace it.

But, it usually didn't take long for that dream to go flying out the bus window just like with new year's resolutions. Already in this young 2020, I guess you could say I've had to rip a couple of pages out of my new spiral notebook and start over, where I've messed up already. And it left behind those messy paper strands inside the spiral that have to be fished out with a pencil. Yeah, if this new year was a freshly-issued blank, manila book cover, you could say I'm unhappy that the bubble letters of my name aren't as perfect as I'd imagined and my new red crayon already snapped when I went to color them in. Yeah, it didn't take me long to mess up a fresh start.

But, the good thing about fresh starts is that we can have one any time we want one. They're not chained to a calendar and don't require a waiting period or new materials. So, I'll just take what I've got and start fresh tomorrow, January 13.

Well, that wasn't too bad, so we'll try this again in a few days.

Y'all have a productive week.

But, careful not to pull anything.      


   

Because Christmas card photos are always such a stress-free experience, this year, we decided to involve two dogs with little to no home training in order to add an element of challenge for everyone. Getting five people to look pleasant at the same time is hard enough without inserting dogs into the situation, where squirrels are running everywhere. Mark Whiddon is a good and patient man. He has documented our 2019 existence, despite some of those pictured whining about forgetting to pack appropriately and some of those pictured being asleep just minutes before this picture was taken.

Carson left for college in August with one self-motivating goal, "Don't suck". I'm happy to report that he did not suck, this semester, and we are so proud of that. He also didn't change his sheets, but that's not something we'll address here in our holiday greeting. He's adjusted well and is loving the Bulldog life, which makes his parents happy. Blair had an awesome year in her sales job, which is perfectly suited to her personality. John Samuel will finish his master's degree in accounting in March, which he's done while working full time. They've found their people and their church in their new town and we've likely lost them to the Gulf Coast life for good, but we're glad they've found their place. Davis and I have settled into the empty nest thing. It's really not so bad, after all. If I elaborate any further, it may hurt the offsprings' feelings, so I'll just leave it at that. Ruby has recently taken up basket unweaving and seems to really have a knack for it. She's less enthusiastic about recent orders from the doctor to shed some pounds. She continues to dispel any hint of monotony around here.        

I just wanted to do a quick post to sign off for 2019. I don't know what it is about Christmas time, but I always tend to get sentimental and even a little misty-eyed about the people in my life, right about now. Maybe it's the soft glow of the Christmas lights that illuminates those corners of the heart. Maybe it's the impending turn of another year and the realization of how quickly life passes. Or, perhaps, it's just the higher than normal blood sugar and cholesterol levels. I really don't know, but, whatever the reason, this time of year, I'm most appreciative of the gift of people, most of all.

Those people most definitely include you. Each week, you make me so humbly grateful. Knowing there are millions of sites that a person could choose to visit on the internet and you use your valuable time to stop by here to see me. You'll never know how precious that is to my heart. Thank you so very much. You are a blessing to my life.

I'd like to wish you and yours a very Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year. I can't wait to see what topics await us in 2020.

God bless you.

    

I remember the year Blair played Mary in the church Christmas play. I think she was about 5 years old and one of her "since birth" friends, Brock, had snagged the role of Joseph. Since the two actors were so close in real life, the chemistry between Mary and Joseph was sure to translate onto the stage and make the story of Jesus' birth just come alive. Their church friends were to surround them in the spotlight as angels, shepherds, wise men, and miscellaneous farm animals. The set was so adorable. It was going to be a precious reenactment of the nativity.
On the day of the performance, Blair was so excited that it was finally time to fully immerse herself in the role of Mary. All the preparation. The practice. The anticipation. It was time to apply her acting skills for the biggest role she'd ever play in children's churchdom. I mean, being cast as Mary is the church's equivalent to being crowned Miss America or something like that. There's just no greater honor, which can be bestowed and this was the moment for which she'd waited.

They took the stage. Mary sat beside the crude manger bed, which held a swaddled doll as Joseph stood behind her in his supportive way- both on and off the stage. The angels appeared as the narrator read and then entered the shepherds, which was followed by a song. During the song, I noticed that Mary was looking sad. Depressed, really. Then, perhaps, even a look of despair. I wish I had pictures that fully captured her progressive wilting. She'd started out gently leaning over the manger bed, but now she was practically sprawled out across the top of baby Jesus as her head sank lower and lower into the hay. Frankly, she looked like a really bad mother and I was certain that this was not biblical.

As Mary's mother, I sat in the audience trying to decide what was going on with her. Was she suffering from stage fright? Was this her interpretation of a woman, who'd just dismounted a donkey and given birth in a barn without the luxury of an epidural? Was she feeling like she was being upstaged by the angels with their sparkly halos? Was she bored with the scenes that didn't involve her? I didn't know. But, I knew something was going on with our usually animated and bubbly Blair. I remember leaning over to Davis and whispering, "What is wrong with her?!?"
Something was off. She was either giving the portrayal of poor Mary's difficult plight all that she had or she was just over the whole thing. Davis and I were probably the only two to think too much about Mary's peculiar postpartum solemnness and descent onto the manger, but this was a side of Jesus' mother that we'd never seen portrayed in stained glass or on the front of a Christmas card.

After the play was over, we went looking for our little Mary. I had to tell her how wonderfully she'd done in her role. That's what we, mamas, do, you know. We tell our children they did so, so good even when we know in our hearts that they really stunk it up. That's called good parenting. When we found her, I picked her up to kiss her and she was burning up with fever. I pressed my cheek against her forehead and she felt like an oven. The child was sick and apparently felt just awful which, explained her underwhelming performance as the mother of Christ. We discovered a fever of 103 when we got home and there she'd gone and exposed the entire town of Bethlehem to goodness knows what.

All the parents, that night, were seeing the same Christmas story we were, but everyone was zoomed in on their own little piece of it. I don't think anyone even really noticed Blair's particularly unhappy portrayal of the Christ child's mother. The angels' parents looked mainly at the angels and the shepherds' parents were concentrating primarily on them. The wise men's families were solely focused on their arrival from the East, but, from where we were watching, something about that Christmas play was off. There was something wrong and it was all we really noticed.

Maybe from where you are, something is off this Christmas. Eventually, we'll all have a turn at it. Death, sickness, divorce, life changes, separation. There are so many reasons why the celebration of Christmas can feel all wrong, some years. Sometimes, it can be hard to concentrate on the big picture of Christmas when there's something that's just not right from where we're watching the season unfold. I know a lot of people, who'll be having that kind of holiday, this time around. Something is wrong or someone is missing or something has changed and it can feel like we're the only ones, who really even notice. Everyone else is so focused in on the holiday celebration from their own vantage point that we can feel alone in mourning the loss of the way Christmas has always been for us.

There's so much celebrating of the season and talk of being jolly and of good cheer, but it's not always easy to feel those warm fuzzies that we're expected to experience. There's probably no other day of the year that's filled with more sentimental thought and fond memory as Christmas and, when our current situation doesn't match up with those beautiful recollections anymore, well, it's naturally hard to think about much else. 

I don't pretend to know the answers of how to get through those years. We'll all face them eventually if we haven't already. I just know that the reason He was born into this place, which is full of things that are "all wrong" is so that He could offer us hope and peace in those situations. What a mess we made of this world, but He was willing to come into it and live in it and die by its hands, so we could face those days when life seems unbearably sad and forever changed. He came so there would be more to come for those who'd trust Him. A place for eternity where nothing would ever be "off" again.

This year, if you're having a Christmas season that's not quite right in some way, my thoughts are with you and my prayers are for better Christmases ahead as things will get easier. And if life is good for you and everything about your Christmas celebration is shaping up to be like a Hallmark movie, just remember to stop and see the season through the eyes of someone else's circumstances and take time to be kind.

Talk soon.

  
           

I've been Christmas shopping since July. Really. I shop early in anticipation of this being my busy time. The presents have been wrapped since September and received their crowning bows, a couple of weeks ago. I keep a list of people and their corresponding gifts, which I've been marking through and checking off and fussing over for a while now.

Over the Thanksgiving weekend, our friend, Mark, met us for a family photo shoot. With visions of a Christmas card, or more realistically now, a Christmas post, I decided we needed to tackle a picture of our 5 humans and 2 dogs as it had been a couple of years since our last official family pictorial documentation. You can imagine getting that many people and animals up and out the door- presentable and in the mood for smiling- was a stressor all by itself, which will require its own post at a future time.

Seems like I've been decorating Christmas trees and such since July, but, really, it's just been since the day after Halloween. Last week, in between working, I spread some Christmas cheer around my own house and, as of Saturday, I finally wrapped up the busiest span of time for the work I do. All the big boxes have now been checked. From here to Christmas, I'll see after the stores, but the worst of my busyness is behind me.

After going so hard for so long, I'd set aside Monday and Tuesday of this week to sit with a good friend, who'd had surgery. She'd just gotten home and settled in bed and I stretched out on her sofa trying to be as quiet as possible, so I wouldn't disturb her napping. I sat there and soaked up every drop of the quietness in her house. For the first time in a long, long while, there was no TV, no news, no music, no noise, no to-do list, no place to be, and no communication of any kind. She was in her room getting the physical rest she needed and I was on the sofa getting the mental rest I'd craved through all those weeks of deadlines and responsibilities and I have to say it was glorious.

Later that day, she decided to join me in the den for a change of scenery. We sat and just visited in the kind of quiet you'd expect in a place of recovery. In the glow of her Christmas lights and beautiful decorations, we recalled the simplicity of our childhood Christmases and their happy memories that still warm us to this day. She talked about her mother's simple decorations and their tradition of a Christmas Eve seafood meal. I remembered the dark green placemats my mother always put out and all the candy she'd make. Both of us had memories of Christmas Eve going on, what seemed like, forever in our childish anticipation of Santa. Compared to today's standards, we both recalled gifts being few, but how excited, appreciative, and taken away we were with each one. She remembered the Christmas she only wanted an Operation game and I thought I'd struck gold with a Life Saver Storybook from my grandparents. The holidays weren't near as flashy as they are today, but when our minds remember Christmas, those simpler ones seem to rise to the surface first. In the quiet we were enjoying together that afternoon, we looked back at a less complicated time and, for a moment, we were living it.

If you ask me about the moments in my life when I've felt closest to God, I'd say one of the times would be my late childhood. Around the fifth grade, I remember lying in my bed at night and crying. Not because of anything bad, but just overcome with thoughts about how Jesus loved me. And I could feel Him there in my little bedroom. It was before the noise of the teenager years rushed in and the pressures of adulthood elbowed their way through and before technology blared its loud horns and the responsibilities of parenthood filled up all the empty spaces. There was less noise then. Less to worry about. Less to distract a wandering mind. No, in that little bedroom with the yellow gingham bedspread and stuffed animals sitting around, God felt as near as the air I breathed. In that still, uncomplicated, simple place, I could hear Him.

Seems like we thrive on complicating life, these days. We have such high expectations and we have no one but ourselves to blame. We're continuously raising the bar and we cross the finish line of Christmas with our tongues hanging out and needing a holiday to recover from the holiday. It's a marathon of shopping and preparations and checklists. We think memories are made in big, loud flashes of celebration and success is measured by looking from side to side and love is sown in towering piles of gifts and friends are better by the dozens and Jesus can be found somewhere under the heap of it all. But, it seems to me that the most wonderful things in life grow best in still, peaceful simplicity. It's where rest is found. Where friendships form. Where appreciation takes root and where memories grow. And just like He came, in quiet simplicity, the voice of Jesus can still be heard there.

The very best things need so little to flourish.

Simply, a little peace and quiet.    

    

Well, it's almost Thanksgiving time again and you know what that means. Family gatherings. All over the country, families will be coming together around tables of delicious food and lively conversation, next week. No matter where you live or how you celebrate Thanksgiving, I'm guessing that we all have some of the same guests at our tables. There are approximately 27 standard categories into which most of us could divide up many of the family members, who'll be with us this Thanksgiving day. I thought it would be fun to take a look at those. 
The worrier. Every family has a worrier or two. They're the ones who fret that the kids will break the glass coffee table and sever all of their main arteries or that someone will get choked on a bone that was left in the dressing. They're the ones who have visions of the turkey being undercooked and the entire family tree being hospitalized on Black Friday with salmonella poisoning. The worrier can't help that he/she has the gift of a dark imagination. After all, in the mind of the worrier, when 45 people are in one house, the odds of all of them leaving alive and well are slim to none. 
     
The organizer.  The organizer is always in charge. The organizer is often a first born child as their birth order makes them naturally bossy. They do all the calling and planning. Compiling a list of conflicts. Ultimately deciding on the day and time at which the meal will served. They make the assignments as to who will bring what- ensuring that there will be plenty to eat. They shop, well in advance, for key ingredients, so that the family unit will not be among those caught without French's Fried Onions atop their green beans when the grocery stores run dry. They have their system and it's best not to try and alter it. Their way has worked for all these years and there's no sense in changing it now. The organizer thrives on details and the rest of the family is happy to let her have her fun. Until the organizers have been laid to rest, the family will follow his/her lead as is custom. 

The free spirit.  The free spirit can be found at Thanksgiving dinner in unconventional dress like board shorts, Black Sabbath tees, and sandals. Facial hair, hair color, and hairstyles may vary from year to year. Because of the free spirit's laid back personality, he is rarely in a hurry or ever in any sort of distress and, as a result, will likely be around for more Thanksgivings than any of his contemporaries in the family.     

The politico.  The politico is always up to date on the latest political news and is ready to discuss them at a moment's notice.  "Did I hear someone mention the election?"  They enjoy political banter and discussing what needs to be changed in the world.  In the South, it is almost never recommended to seat this guest next to anyone's new ultra-liberal girlfriend, who was involved with the Beto campaign and is sporting a Planned Parenthood bumper sticker on her car. 

The child magnet.  There's always that one relative, who attracts all of the children. They hang off of the child magnet like ornaments on a Christmas tree. The child magnet is usually a fun uncle who's never had kids before and doesn't realize the dangers of flinging children into the blades of a ceiling fan or grasp the concept of shaken baby syndrome. This total disregard for safety is the very thing that draws the children to him. It is best not to seat the worrier anywhere near the child magnet when arranging the place cards.

The picky eater.  The picky eater looks at the long table of holiday food, which stretches as far as the eye can see, and can find nothing that is fit to eat. They want an ingredient list for each dish present and wrinkle their noses at the mere mention of onion, mayonnaise, or anything green. The picky eater will ask if there are any Kraft singles in the house or simply settle for a roll and dessert. The organizer is sure to make a notation of the picky eater's likes and dislikes and accommodations will likely be made for him/her at next year's gathering.
   
The Black Friday shopper.  The Black Friday shopper stretches miles of sales papers out across the floor and table- making notes and lists and checking them twice. They are comparing prices online, checking sale times, and charting their shopping attack. The shopper may eat fast and excuse herself early in order to get in line with the other 500 people in competition with her for the five iPads in stock at Best Buy.       

The observer.  The observer is seen but rarely heard. He/she is content to sit along the edges of the room as a spectator of all of the family mayhem. It's not that they aren't enjoying themselves or wish to be somewhere else, it's just not their style to get up in the middle of the action. The observers and the free spirits blend nicely together in the seating chart. 

The entertainer.  Or the anti-observer. If there is a piano, they will play it. If there is a karaoke machine, they will sing into it. If there is a hearth, it will be their stage. The entertainer sees the family Thanksgiving as a holiday with a captive audience and will never let a good opportunity get by them. The entertainers were born for times such as this.        

The medic. The medics are the doctors, pharmacists, x-ray techs, nurses, and physical therapists in the family. Basically, any family member working in the medical field is fair game for free advice at any and all family gatherings. It is equivalent to seeing the doctor without a co-pay, so medical concerns are put on the back burner until Thanksgiving. Children, who hit their heads or wheeze, are rushed over to the closest medic. Questions regarding sciatica, rotator cuff pain, drug side effects, migraines, the shingles vaccine, and diarrhea, with or without vomiting, should all be directed toward a family medic, but out of earshot of the worrier.
  
The hugger.  The huggers.....well, they hug. A. Lot. If you see them coming toward you, you should assume the hugging position, because it's coming. It is not unusual to be hugged by the huggers multiple times in one visit. Once when you arrive. Once when you leave. And as many times as you pass by the hugger in between. The huggers are full of love for their families and want to express it. Failing to do so could result in something bursting internally and that would be unhealthy-requiring the care of one of the medics.

The non-hugger. The non-hugger loves his family, too, but experiences discomfort when asked to participate in an embrace. The non-hugger doesn't know why, but he prefers the greeting of a head nod, hand shake, or simple pat on the back as opposed to becoming physically entangled with his relatives. When the non-hugger sees the hugger approaching, he begins to experience sudden discomfort, which is indicated by body stiffening and grimaces- warning signals which are rarely picked up by the hugger. The observer and the non-hugger usually form a friendship as they sit in the shadows of avoidance.
   
The fan. The fan is always rehashing the game, play by play, or looking for a television to catch the last quarter or the highlights. They flip channels between ESPN, ESPN2, ESPNU, ESPN Alternate, and the SEC Network. They always come dressed in their team's colors and seek out the fans of their rival team to torment. The fan and the politico generally have nothing to talk about and should be seated apart as their passions do not intersect. 

The techie.  The techie is always on his/her gadget. They're texting, playing games, applying filters, checking social media. They're Snapchatting, Facetiming, talking to Siri, and showing off their newly released iPhone 59XXX. If there are any news or weather developments during the gathering, locally or abroad, the techie will keep the family abreast of the latest information. If any family members should experience technical difficulties with their own devices during the gathering, he/she is more than happy to assist. Oddly, the family could recognize the top of the techie's head from a mile away. The Black Friday shopper and the fan can both benefit from having the techie's place card close by.

The sleeper.  Once the sleeper eats, it's game over. You'll find him in the closest recliner to the table all stretched out and unconscious. The sleeper opens himself up to a number of embarrassing possibilities when he dozes off in a room full of people, who are all armed with phones. This is a risk he is always willing to take. The sleeper often wakes up confused as to what time it is and how long he's been out.....not realizing he's already topped 100 likes on his drooling portrait with the entertainer making rabbit ears over his head, which the techie has posted on all social media outlets. 

The bringer of the ice.  The bringer of the ice is notorious for his/her inability to cook. The family is convinced that the owner's manual and shrink wrapped accessories are still located on the shiny racks inside her oven. To prevent the embarrassed guest from taking home an untouched casserole, food assignments such as tea, rolls, and ice are saved specifically with them in mind. Everyone knows that family holidays are no time for store bought cakes or cooking experiments. The organizer will see that the bringer of the ice is clear on his/her limited assignment and will emphasize that nothing else will be needed from them.

The dieter.  The dieter comes to family events armed with a mental list of things she cannot eat. They're counting points or mixing shakes or frantically searching out the no carb dishes. They're into Paleo, Weight Watchers, intermittent fasting, South Beach, Atkins, and Mediterranean-trying to find something...anything...that they can have in the buffet of butter, cream, bread, cheese, and refined sugars. The commitment of the dieter cannot be discounted at these calorie-laden holiday gatherings as their options are limited to, basically, only what the bringer of the ice has contributed.

The photographer.  The photographer wants to capture all family memories for future generations. It is their mission to photograph everyone in attendance at least six times. The photographer will often wrangle different groups together to be photographed such as the children, brothers and sisters, cousins, etc.. The crowd usually becomes disgruntled with the photographer. The outdoorsman and the observers are especially intolerant of the photographer's quest to document their existence. It is a thankless job that few appreciate...except for the entertainer and the fashionista, of course.         

The servant.  The servant wants to help everyone in attendance at family affairs. They will hold your baby while you eat, refill your tea glass, get a clean fork for you if you drop yours, fetch you another piece of pie, make your coffee, and take your plate to the kitchen when you're done. The servant insists that she's not hungry and will eat right after she's cut all 18 children's turkey and ham into bite-size pieces. The servant is often left with the darkest meat, sweet potatoes with no topping, and the roll that got too dark on the bottom.   

The outdoorsman.  The outdoorsmen may arrive a little late to the gathering. He is usually dressed in camo and could possibly smell of deer urine. It would not be uncommon for the outdoorsman to have a deceased animal in the back of his truck, while joy and merriment take place inside. The children may find the discovery of Prancer's carcass especially disturbing this close to Christmastime, so extra caution should be taken. The Black Friday shopper and the outdoorsman may pass each other in the driveway.....leaving early and arriving late.

The fashionista.  Everyone anxiously awaits the arrival of the fashionistas to see what the new trends are. The hottest patterns. The latest styles.  The fashionistas always come in dressed to the nines.  Throughout the gathering, she can be heard answering questions concerning eyeliner application and hair product preferences. The fashionista, seated next to the outdoorsman, doused with doe urine, might not be the most ideal seating arrangement.   
     
The destructive one.  It's best to keep your eye on this one. If you don't know where the destructive one is, you better be finding out. Candles, fireplace matches, key rings with mace, fire pokers, scissors, electric knives, and fingernail polish should be kept on lockdown when the destructor is in the house. The destructive one should be carefully watched, but never put in the care of the child magnet.

The spiller. The spiller is notorious for his difficulty in keeping tea in a glass, soup in a bowl, and cider in a cup. No one knows exactly why the spiller is challenged in this area, but it is a genetic flaw that the family has learned to accept with a sympathetic "bless his heart". It is wise to for the organizer to place the spiller's place card far away from great-grandmother's lace tablecloth and the newly upholstered dining chairs. The mop should be kept handy throughout the course of their visit. The kids' table is a prudent choice for their placement no matter the spiller's age. And as far away from the fashionista as possible. The hugger should also refrain when the spiller has an sort of liquid in hand.

The germaphobe.  The germaphobe has his ear to the ground for any sign of sniffling, coughing, sneezing, congestion, stomach upset, rash, or fever. The germaphobe will place the most distance possible between himself and any hint of present contagions. For this reason, the germaphobe is never in the running for child magnet as children are seen as nothing but high risk pathogen carriers. No, the germaphobe often wreaks of hand sanitizer and stays on the periphery near an exit in case word comes of any vomiting on the premises.

The clergy.  This is the relative, who is currently serving or has ever served in any sort of ministry role. The preacher in the family. The chaplain. The Gideon. The youth minister. Until their death, this person will be called upon to lead the family in prayer and words of reflection as the holiday's significance is remembered. If the family is without an ordained minister, the organizer will look for the Sunday school teacher. If, still, no one qualifies, then Vacation Bible school snack coordinator or Bible drill winner of '83 may be deemed eligible for the position. Among other duties, the clergy may also be asked to counsel the destructive one, at some point, during the event.

The teacher voice.  The teacher voice is always that family member who works with small children, day in and day out. Their voices are loud and intimidating and demand attention. The teacher voice is very useful when trying to herd screaming, uncooperative children for a picture with the photographer or to call the attention of a rowdy room to the clergy, who is ready to say grace. In the event that the family clergy is a hellfire and brimstone preacher, the teacher voice may not be needed in the latter instance.

The vulture.  The vultures come ready to do some damage to the holiday spread.  The organizer will need to know if the vulture will be present or not because his/her attendance can be a game changer in the grocery shopping. The number of turkeys needed could even change based on their attendance.  When everyone else has moved on to the dessert table, the vulture is just getting started with his third helping of dressing, turkey, sweet potatoes, and fifth roll. The vultures are blessed with the gift of consumption and they have absolutely no preferences as to who they are seated near as long as there is food. 

How many of these people are coming to your house for Thanksgiving dinner?

We'll talk next week!