deb roush

I have a personal Thanksgiving tradition that includes taking about an hour to run, bike or hike – doing something outside in the fresh air – that provides me time to reflect on the blessings in my life. In the last few years, most Thanksgivings have been spent in Ohio with my husband Terry’s family, and I’ve taken runs through the suburbs in the cold, seeing my breath and feeling alive. It was on a bike ride through our own neighborhood many Thanksgivings ago when my then young son, Kyle, learned the meaning of the word “tradition.” I had said, “This is so great, Kyle, we should make it a tradition.” What’s that, Mom? he asked – and I explained. And while biking with Kyle hasn’t become something we do year after year, me spending just a few moments in thanks has.

But not this year. Thanksgiving was terrific – surrounded by friends and family and cooking, eating and watching football. But evening came too fast, and by day’s end I was tired, and to be honest, a little grumpy. I spent Friday in much of the same sour mood. But by Saturday, I decided to take a walk at nearby Two Rivers park. I texted my friend Terry Williams en route, and her reply was, “On my way.” We walked four miles, and at the end, in middle of the bridge overlooking Arkansas’ Pinnacle Mountain, we witnessed this colorful, vibrant sunset.

It wasn’t until the drive home that I was overcome with this year’s moment of thankfulness. I was on my way to my healthy family to enjoy dinner and a card game in a home I love. I had a friend who was willing to drop everything for an impromptu walk with me. And I live in a place where a sunset is this beautiful.

I was out of my mood. And it might have been two days late this year, but my tradition continues.