Thanksgiving Peeler

Peeling potatoes for Thanksgiving dinner. So many, Billy sighed. Breathing in, breathing out, peeling up, peeling down and watch those fingers too, he thought. Let's not repeat last years excitement of spilled blood all over the kitchen counter and floor. Then the trip to the hospital for seven stitches on his thumb from slicing onions. 

Stay focused that was the key. Pay attention and the knife won't slip.  Food for thought, stomach and soul, Billy said to himself. He was mindfully aware of peeling. Letting other thoughts come and go such as making a gin and tonic, or anticipating the inevitable stupid conversations from family seen mostly at funerals, weddings and holidays. So he kept on peeling and prepping for the chef. His wife, who would make the mashed potatoes. An accomplishment that will, no doubt, feel good and taste great

I won't go hungry either. It was as much for the soul as the stomach. The metaphor of peeling under the skin of meaning wasn't lost on Billy. There was a deep satisfaction from making some thing that was also calming. Simply paying attention to this simple task. 

It was also Thanksgiving. Peel it back and giving thanks for everything this past year. As bad as it was, and it was pretty bad at times, it could have been much worse. A cliche, but nevertheless true, Billy thought.

Then have the drink. Sit at the table with food on everyone's plate along with some stupid and not so stupid conversation was something to be thankful for.

Right here, right now. Happy Thanksgiving.