Something Else to Be Thankful For

Ignoring the advice of those Martha Stewart-ish types who preach the gospel of “thou shalt get the shopping done early in the week before the actual national holiday hits, Charlie and I went to the store at 6pm on Wednesday night. The aisles were crowded and, while Charlie at one point started pushing the cart on his own, I took over.

As it’s just going to be the three of us for Thanksgiving —- and only one of us really has a hankering for turkey—we got a turkey breast, small and compact, and walked past the freezer bins with 10- and 12- pound birds.

Well, I think Charlie’s not that into turkey, based on previous years. Sometimes, change happens overnight, seemingly. How else to account for why Charlie said “no” to everything in the sushi section, including the Vietnamese spring rolls neatly packed with peanut sauce to glistening pack on pack of California rolls and more?

We did spend a lot of time in the bakery section. Charlie seems to like, or need, to examine everything more or less. He did find his latest preference, brownies with chocolate frosting. Then he looked some more and cast his eyes upward to something at the very top of the bins. “Burger, I want,” he told me.

I glanced in the direction of his eyes: The top row of bins was all for cookies of various types. “What would you like?” I asked. “Burger,” said Charlie. “Please.” He opened the clear plastic door and reached up to the top bin which, in his case, was quite easy to reach. The plastic bin contained Snickerdoodles and, sure enough, the pale sweet discs, their tops sprinkled with cinnamon, bore just enough of a resemblance to (ham)burger buns.

Charlie took four and ate one after a simple dinner consisting mostly of his long-term stand-by and comfort food, white rice cooked in a pot. He spent the evening ordering and re-ordering his CDs and watching me try to tape an old trick-or-treat bag back together. It had gotten elaborately ripped due to him trying to shove too many CD cases into it. I had a grandiose plan of attaching half of the bottom of a brown paper bag to the trick-or-treat bag to fix and expand it, but Charlie—seeing what i was intending—told me “no,” clear and simple. He placed as many CDs as he could in the raggedy frame of the old trick-or-treat (complete with pumpkin) bag and told me “bye”: Charlie’s been letting us know, of late, when he wants to have time to himself; when he wants to be left alone.

Unlike when he was younger, Charlie does not require “constant supervision.” Certainly we need to be around. I think he’ll let us know.

Happy Thanksgiving to all!