a thanksgiving miracle..

Hello? Is this thing on? Testing, testing. That reminds me. Last summer at the family reunion (the annual 3-day camping trip with Dave's entire family), my brother-in-law was setting up for our morning flag raising -- yes, we do that, every morning; and we take it down every night. It's a little like Scout Camp, I suppose, but cuter, with little boys running around in footy pajamas, and half the kids' (and sadly, adults') attention drawn away by someone's new puppy. Really. I think someone has a new puppy every year.

Anyway, so my brother-in-law is setting up the sound system (aka the "You Can Be A Star" Karaoke machine), and plugs in the mic and says, "Testing, testing... Testing, 1...2...3.." For reals. Now, I know that this doesn't come across as very funny. But even as I type, I'm smiling, because he said, "Testing, 1, 2, 3." Why do people say that? It's a lovely cliche, testing the sound by saying, "Testing, 1, 2, 3." You know you did it as a kid. When you got your hands on a microphone, you'd hold it up right by your mouth and say, "Testing, testing, 1, 2, 3." It seems like real sound guys say things like, "Check, Check," nowadays, but there was my brother-in-law, testing "1, 2, 3." If I get my hands on a mic, I usually go for silly-game-show-host voice, never "Testing, 1, 2, 3." But I suppose that's just a personality difference. All I know is it was awesome.

Ahhh, so this is working. Nothing like a pointless memory to start a post after what, 3 months? My friend told me that my blog is collecting cobwebs, so I had to see for myself. Sure enough, I barely found it underneath all the dust collected over months of no usage.

So even though I have lots of things I plan to write about, including such hits as "The Great Shoe Disaster of December 2008," or "Local Idiots Shut Down Alpine Loop with Jack-knifed Trailer," or of course, my personal fave, "Did I Tell You They're Publishing One of My Children's Songs in the Friend Magazine in September?", I thought I'd pick back up right about where I left off. Somewhere in November.

One dark Sunday evening (it was darker than usual that night, since we'd just "fallen back" with the time; so really, it was like 4:30 but it seemed later. Okay, it was later than 4:30, maybe 5:30 or 6:00... Vital details...), we all gathered into the dining room. Dave had just finished preparations on another spectacular Sunday dinner -- he's kind of taken over Sunday dinners now, and he's brilliant, of course.

Anyway, we had just sat down, and everyone was oohing and ahhing over the spread -- he's really good -- when I caught a glimpse of a large something moving across the street. It was quite a large something or other, clearly an animal, and I thought, "Hey, it's one of those horse-dogs!" (which is actually a Great Dane, but I can never remember Great Dane when I'm trying to talk about them. Really, I had to Google it just now so I could tell you what I mean). Luckily I didn't actually announce that I'd spotted a horse-dog, although, what came out was only marginally better: "Um there's a really big do--" (and then I saw more clearly) "a DEER!"

That's right. A deer -- a 4-point buck, strolling down the middle of our street. Well you can imagine how quickly the entire family had their noses squashed up against the window to get a better look. I mean, it's not like we live in the foothills; we don't have a mountain in our backyard or anything, so really, I can count the number of times I've seen a deer strolling down our street on no fingers. Sure, it's just a deer, but it's a deer walking down our street, out for an evening stroll, enjoying the sound of his hooves on the asphalt. Now that's something. ...Do deer have hooves?

We watched him until he rounded the corner, and then we jumped into action; we couldn't just stand there and watch it walk out of our lives without at least trying to see where in the world he was headed, or more importantly, if he was meeting friends. So we ran out the door, all seven of us shoeless, and half of us sockless as well, and jogged after the deer. I only mention the shoeless bit because I admit, I displayed a small slide in parental wisdom. I mean, it was November, just a few weeks before the first snow, and it was cold. What kind of mother allows her kids to run outside after a wandering deer, in the dark, in 40-ish degree weather, in bare feet? The one who does it with them, I suppose.

Anyway, we were as stealthy as 7 people chasing a random deer down the road could possibly be. We didn't want to spook him, so we kept him about 15 feet in front of us, and paced him. If he slowed up, we did too. When he paused and turned to look at us, we all froze in place. Those years of Freeze-Tag had finally paid off -- he hardly realized we were following him. Either that or he didn't care. I admit, we started getting a bit giggly after about 20 feet. I think it was the absurdity of the moment hitting us; that, and the cold feet.

And just as I thought we'd tire of running after a deer at dinner time, our hearts stopped: Dead ahead was a car. You know the scenario -- ever heard the term "Deer in the headlights?" We had to do something, we couldn't let him just become hypnotized by the dreaded lights and be plowed down right in front of us. So we did what any normal, deer-in-your-neighborhood-loving people would do: We ran out in front of the car to stop it.

Again, a lapse in motherly instincts. Usually you try to get your kids out of the line of oncoming traffic.

Dave held up his arms as the rest of us waved ridiculously. The car slowed down and rolled down the window. "You okay?" the driver asked.

Hmmm. A family of seven, out in the dark, with no shoes on, flagging down a random car. I'm going with probably not.

"There's a deer!" we all said. Not together. I'm sure he heard something more like, "Look over- DEER!- there's a- can you believe- DEER!- What a- DEER!" Right about now, a car came from the other direction, and our little friend Bambi turned the corner and ran down the street.

Gone.

Forever.

At least from our neighborhood.

And that was our Thanksgiving Miracle. The night the random deer took a walk down our street. What makes it a miracle? Hello, deer in Suburbia. What's Thanksgiving-ish about a deer? Hello, November.

I'm sure it all makes sense now.

All I know is that ridiculous 15 minutes is among my top 5 favorite 15 minutes ever spent with my fam.

SO love that.

Happy Thanksgiving. Or St. Patrick's Day. Whatever.