How The Grinch Stole Thanksgiving


I love Dr. Seuss’s “How The Grinch Stole Christmas.” It is hands-down one of my “must-see” shows during the holidays; I’m referring to the original animated 1966 version. I find the Jim Carey one to be aweful. Also, if I don’t watch it, I will belt out, “You’re a Mean One, Mr. Grinch” at some point during the month of December.

As I was cleaning up the kitchen last night, I decided to watch “The Grinch” rather than turn on the holiday tunes. And I remembered last Thanksgiving’s lesson.

Summer of 2010 proved to be very eventful in the not-so-wonderful bent. To shorten a VERY long story, I was happy to finally move into a spacious townhouse after a short stay with an elderly woman who was very controlling.

At Thanksgiving, it was reported to me that this woman might appreciate a visit and some Thanksgiving fixings. Enough time had passed since my bad experience of living with her that I decided that spreading a little holiday cheer wouldn’t kill me. So, I packaged up some food, and I called to say I would be over in a few minutes.

So we chatted a bit, enjoyed a sip of wine, got caught up with the news and events, and I left some food for her. She had apparently just gotten off the phone with a relative who had a meal brought to her home, and my call came right as she was ripe for a visitor and for someone to bring her a meal for celebrating. As we were talking, I thought I saw a melting of her heart. A little glimmer that she was still open to loving others. I had done a good thing.

As I told a few others of my time of “checking in” on her, I mentioned that in conversing with her, it was as though I was seeing “The Grinch’s heart growing 3 sizes” along with a good self-pat on the back. That is, until, one of the ladies in the circle said, “Wait I don’t get it, who was the Grinch?”

Oh.

Maybe I was.

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