Driving Thanksgiving dinners for Equinox 2014

I’ve watched the weather report for days.  Winter is coming so quickly, you would think that George R.R. Martin was a meteorologist.

And it’s given me pause.  Delivering turkey dinners on Thanksgiving is an important duty for me.  But should I do it in a snowstorm?  What if I get stuck in a ditch while traveling to the hill towns or to the rural areas?  You think AAA is going to pull me out of a ditch on Thanksgiving?  Well, maybe they will… but dare I take a chance?

And at that moment in time, I had three options.  I could either:

• (A) roll over and go back to sleep.
• (B) get up later in the day and hope that there are still delivery tickets available.
• (C) call one of my friends and see if they want to do the deliveries for me.

And in the end, I chose Option D.

And Option D meant that I would get a move-on.  The Blackbird’s already got a full tank of gas.  My cell phone is charged to 100% capacity.  The SiriusXM radio on the Blackbird is already tuned to Christmas music (the SiriusXM “Love” channel turns into the “Holly” channel around this time of year).  What’s a little snow?  All I need to do is get from the Town and Village to I-787 and then to the Empire State Plaza.  Smooth sailing.  Straight shot.

3:30 a.m.  I’m out the door, a quick shovel-the-snow-off-the-Blackbird and I’m on my way to the Plaza.

3:45 a.m.  I get to the parking garage, park in an area where I can easily leave once my turkey cargo is loaded… I get to the concourse… and…

There’s already people in line ahead of me.  Yeah, I’m the sixth person in line, but five people got here ahead of me.  Early birds.

And I recognized the early birds.  Jack and Kevin and their families.  They’re set with wagons and coolers and extra manpower.  For them, this is a family reunion and a family project, and they enjoy participating in same.  How great is it that a family reunion and a charity event can coincide so smoothly?  Great indeed.

So while I waited at the Plaza, I listened to my iPod, specifically tuning in to this NPR serialized podcast that my Facebook friends are raving about.  Something involving a girl who was killed in the 1990’s, and there’s plenty of questions as to who killed or who didn’t kill her… trust me, I figured it all out.  At first, I thought it was Shelly the waitress who did the murder, or maybe it was Audrey Horne, then after a few episodes I discovered it was Leland Palmer who committed the murder.  Damn.  Killed his daughter and her cousin Madeline Ferguson, who looked suspiciously like his daughter Laura Palmer… damn, I need a fine cup of coffee right now.

The line’s getting longer.

This photo was taken at 6:00 a.m.  Mind you, I’ve already been in line for two hours.  Look at the line.  Wow.  I haven’t seen a line for tickets this long since the last time Pearl Jam played in Albany.

“Hey, man, what size shirt are you?”

I looked.  Kevin, the guy who was with the first group of drivers, was asking me about my wardrobe.

“I take a size XL,” I replied.

“Good,” he said.  “I’m going to have some red hoodies made up with the Equinox logo and the words ‘Top 10.’  For us – you and my crew – who got here early enough to deliver the food.”

Nice.  At least I know what I’m wearing next year.  A big red hoodie with an Equinox turkey dinner decal.  Yep.  Doing it.  So doing it.

The clock keeps ticking.  7:00 a.m.  8:00 a.m.  And at about quarter to nine, the line moved forward.

And the postcard grouping I picked up for this year is… Nassau.

Okay.  Haven’t been to Nassau for the Equinox deliveries, but that doesn’t mean I can’t do it this year.

And then, one of the Equinox workers said to me… “Hey, if you want to take another set of tickets, we’d like you to.”

Why?

“Well, we’re about 300 drivers short from last year… and we need to make sure everybody gets their dinners.  So if you’re able – ”

Without hesitation, I grabbed another set of tickets.  So in addition to ten deliveries in six locations in Nassau… I had two extra deliveries of dinners to Cropseyville.

Twelve turkey dinners, twelve boxes of stuffing and pies and cuplets of gravy.

As far as I was concerned, this was the most important factor.  We were here to deliver the dinners.  Thanksgiving wasn’t canceled for these recipients due to weather.

In fact, here’s a short news clip from WTEN and reporter Jennifer Lee regarding the Equinox Thanksgiving Day turkey deliveries.

http://WTEN.images.worldnow.com/interface/js/WNVideo.js?rnd=615775;hostDomain=www.news10.com;playerWidth=630;playerHeight=355;isShowIcon=true;clipId=10897078;flvUri=;partnerclipid=;adTag=News;advertisingZone=;enableAds=true;landingPage=;islandingPageoverride=false;playerType=STANDARD_EMBEDDEDscript;controlsType=overlay;galleryType=wnstory;galleryId=27494648NEWS10 ABC: Albany, New York News, Weather, Sports

And as for the deliveries – everything went well.  Dinners finished.  Dinners delivered. Commitment kept again.

And on the way home… I took a slight detour.  One in my mind and in my heart.

This was the first true 2014-15 snowstorm in the Capital District.  All the trees were trimmed white with snow; all the roads were caked with soft, white, powdery chill.  I had to keep my eyes on the road at all times – one slip on this wintery mix and I could end up in a ditch.  Or I could lose control of my car and hit a tree.

Hit a tree.

And I thought back to 45 years ago.

It’s this snowy, wet road on which my grandfather – who never met a bottle of Cutty Sark he didn’t like – skidded on a snowy road and changed my family’s life forever.  Because of someone’s horrible decisions… my family was torn apart.  My brothers and sister were injured in the car crash.  And my brother Allen…

There are people who will tell you to move on.  It’s been almost 45 years, they say.  “Let it go,” so they say, almost nowadays with a flourish of “Let it go, let it go-o-o,” as if they were lip-syncing to the song from Frozen.

Well, I’m tired of what “they” say, in that I don’t really care about “they.”  I care about me.  You don’t get to tell me how long I can grieve.  And you don’t get to tell me when I can stop grieving.

There are several people in my life for whom their passing has both shaped and guided my decisions.  Allen was one of them.  It reminded me that life is the most precious asset we have.  It can be stolen in a second, stolen by factors not in your control, and you’ll never get it back once it’s gone.  So you need to live your life every single day as if each moment was your last, and if it WAS your last, you need to make it your best.

And my decision in 2010 to finally install a grave marker on his final resting place... it should have been done 40 years earlier.  He shouldn’t have spent 40 years in the ground in an unmarked grave.  It should have been done when my mother was still alive to appreciate it.  All the Thanksgiving dinners he missed.  It still bothers me today.

It’s the reason, above all others, why I’ve abstained from partaking of any alcoholic beverage.  Even today, I’ve dealt with people who were so stone-faced drunk that they barely remembered that you unzip your fly BEFORE you take a leak, not after.  I’ve taken keys away from people who thought they could drive after they tried to drown their relationship sorrows in several shots of Jamison.  Or after they guzzled two full cans of Four Loko (back when Four Loko earned that nickname of “Blackout in a Can”) and still thought they could command the world.

Listen, I don’t look down on anybody who consumes alcohol, whether it’s beer, wine, mouthwash… everybody has their own choices.  They know how to control their alcohol consumption, that’s fine.  I’m not chopping up barrels of liquor like I’m some 21st-century Carrie Nation.

And I’m not perfect.  I’m no saint.  I’ve made mistakes.  Mistakes for which I don’t think God could even forgive me.  But I deal with that in my own way.  I take account of my own penance.

So after I finished my Thanksgiving deliveries, I stopped at one last location.  At the one place that would even host a sinner like me for a Thanksgiving dinner.

Drove along the winding pathways.  Until I reached Section 46.  Parked the car.  Turned off the motor.  Said a prayer.

The ground was covered in glistening white snow.  But there was no snow on the bronze marker.

I approached the grave.  Said another prayer.  I left a rose.  And as an added treat, I left a piece of Table Talk pumpkin pie.  Every child loves Table Talk.  So does every adult.

These moments remind me of those who have shaped my life.  Those who have passed, passed long before their time.  The autumn leaves always reminds me of Stacy Davis.  The spring thaw brings back memories of my Grandma Betty.

And it’s the snowy winter chill… driving along the winding roads of Rensselaer County, bringing meals to those who need a holiday smile… and I am reminded, once again, that my brother was taken to the angels 45 years too soon.

Rest in peace, baby brother.  Someday we will share a Thanksgiving meal together.  And even if it’s not next year or the next one after that…

… then at least your spirit is kept alive every time I knock on the door of a stranger’s house and bring them a Thanksgiving dinner.  Even though you are gone, I still believe that your short time upon this earth inspires me to take that extra step every single day.

Happy Thanksgiving to all.