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My Favorite Thanksgiving Tradition is The Wizard of Oz
Turkey, stuffing, and a pair of ruby slippers
Cakes and Cookies: Someone once wrote that traditions were just peer pressure from dead people. I agree, but the familiarity and the ritual can give a peaceful state of mind, depending on the tradition. My tradition on Thanksgiving night, when my belly is full, and my coffee cup is steaming, is watching The Wizard of OZ. The story of the Kansas farm girl and her misfit friends is my favorite movie. I watch it many times a year, especially if my anxiety is on the periphery.
I am OZ-obsessed in general. I see a pair of Ruby slippers or a flying monkey, and my interest is at the highest peak. I loved the transition from black and white to dazzling color when I was younger. The two witches, the unbothered Glinda in a Pepto pink ball gown and the Wicked Witch of the West, balanced on her broom as she cleaved through the air, cackling and plotting, and a particular affinity for the Tin Woodsman. The story taught me about brains, courage, heart, and home and how we underestimate ourselves only to find what we seek is what we’ve had all along.
As a writer, I am constantly overthinking, my brain an attic filled with ideas stored in boxes waiting to be opened and brought down to my typing fingers. Sometimes I get snowed in, kicking…
