"Man Laws"
Thanksgiving night we drove back to Columbus under the cover of fatigue, alternating between the entertainments of a WLW radio talk show host offering his “Man Laws” (full of preter-obvious things such as don’t choose the urinal right next to a guy if there’s one available another urinal over) and Tom T. Hall’s Greatest Hits. I play “Old Dogs, Children & Watermelon Wine” for my wife since we have an old dog. I wonder what she thinks of the lyric about women but don't ask.
By Friday night everything is of a faerie-like in the bracing coolness of approaching December, alit with the glow of free time. The garage is pregnant with home improvement projects-in-progress while the television lies dormant, though still regnent with the football greatness of those Arkansas warriors with their blood-red razorback images on white flags. A mythically tall running back named McFadden ran like a ghost through LSU defenses. It took three overtimes and a 4th-and-10 to kill the number one team in the nation.
A hike to the nearby lake proves it forlorn of visitors and sun; the trees hold onto to balding rusted crowns. (They're a month away from come-overs.) The golf course lies empty though its greens be as green as ever. Our dog is as thrilled as if be a day in June and alert to a million scents I am not privy to.
Brother-in-law Bud came over to give me two cases of Bud Lights left over from his wedding reception. I drink Bud Light only in a last resort, but it’s nice to have the option. I plan on more last resorts in the future if only for economic purposes. (I can buy more Luse paintings that way.) I layer the beers in the bottom drawers of the refrigerator. Still not enough room. A half-case will have to live in the cold garage, the bottles lined up behind the bar like a collection of future promises.
There’s no time more meditative as the Friday after Thanksgiving. It sits post-family gatherings like a grand Minotaur, wild and free. It sits secure given the free time promises of Saturday and Sunday. Thanksgiving is said to be the quintessential “guy holiday”. The one for us. No presents to buy, no stress or cooking. We are merely called upon to carve and eat. All other holidays have been comercialized and/or given over for the children. But not this one.
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