Botched potatoes and Black Friday magic

Thanksgiving was fine, but I badly botched the mashed potatoes. Ironic, seeing as how: a) I insisted on making them because Will’s are typically butterless and bland; and b) I had actually taken the time to read an article online yesterday morning about how not to botch the mashed potatoes. As my 14-year-old niece would say, “Fail!” Ah, well—we consumed our obligatory feast anyhow, in the company of several beloved family members, plus one quirky guest. I really should focus on the togetherness rather than the excess—it would make me much less Grinch-like on these over-the-top occasions.

I’ve blogged before about why holidays tend to make me twitchy, but yesterday, a new idea arrived: The Magic of Ordinary Days. It’s the title of one of my favorite movies, one that hardly anyone seems to know about. It’s a Hallmark flick, starring Keri Russell and Skeet Ulrich, an unlikely couple who end up enjoying much love and contentment together, in a wholly wholesome way. While I definitely recommend the film, it’s the title that struck me as the reason I resist the merriment most everyone else embraces.

I simply prefer ordinary days to prescribed “special” ones. I really do revel in routine. It’s not that I abhor surprises, like some friends I know. And I don’t think I’m a dull sort of person, who doesn’t know how to have fun. I like to enjoy the good stuff of life in the midst of it, not necessarily in a time set aside. I don’t want my “special moments” to be pressured or forced. In fact, rather than resisting surprises, I regularly seek them out and delight in them. Give me one serendipitous bout of laughter over a boatload of sappy greeting cards.

The moral of my Black Friday reflection? Hallmark cards, no; Hallmark movies, yes. But seriously, I’m spending my day doing laundry—and loving its magical ordinary-ness (once I tear myself away from this magnetic black hole called the “internets”).