I am thankful i’m alive during these current times for a list of reasons.
- iPhones while taking children to the store, on a plane, in the car
- never feeling lost in a new city thanks to turn by turn directions & blue tooth
- pull ups
- flameless candles
But there’s something that illustrates how thankful i am i was not born on a farm, or before 1850. Pulling the meat off of a rotisserie chicken today and feeling the fork scrape across the bone giving me the heebie jeebies. Looking at the piece of meat with the vein running through it. Avoiding all the discolored meat clinging to the side of the rib. Dark meat. BLECH.
I’m a wuss when it comes to cooking. I didn’t even TOUCH meat until i was married and had to cook for our little family. There was one particular Thanksgiving that sticks in my mind. My husband and I had to tag team a turkey to get the neck bone out. And once that was out, neither one of us was certain that was part of the turkey. We were convinced the turkey had one last fling with a Donkey and the farmer caught them in the act.
The neck was phallic and disgusting and slimy and just gross.
(But it was good for a laugh, and a blog story 6 years later!)
Touching the dead flesh of something that once lived is just not my cup of tea. I always said i would be a vegetarian if it wasn’t for my love of bacon. .. and COOKED meat. I’ll touch the hell out of some COOKED chicken fried steak or COOKED sausage, or COOKED chicken breast. But the raw stuff, the smell, the feel, the slime, just grosses me the hell out.
So while I am very thankful for antibiotics and the gift of childbirth without PTSD thanks to an epidural, it’s the small daily things that really have me feeling warm and fuzzy about living with a hole in the ozone and the melting of the ice caps. I can buy this shit already cut up ! and someone else had to raise it and kill it to boot!