Jenga and Herman are adorable, easy-going, gentle four-year-old, bonded male guinea pigs looking for a loving guardian together.

These boys came to Friends of Petraits Rescue when their human didn’t feel like she had the time to care for them any longer.

Jenga is a neutered tri-colored Abyssinian guinea pig; Herman is a blond teddy bear guinea pig.

Jenga had been used as a young pig for training exercises so he was very accustomed to being handled and even knows some commands. Herman tries to maintain his dominance as an un-neutered male and occasionally humps poor easy-going Jenga.

These boys are large, sweet and easy companions.

Guinea pigs eat a diet of unlimited Timothy and Orchard hays; a handful of guinea pig pellets, and fresh vegetables including romaine, red leaf and green leaf lettuces, cilantro, cucumbers, carrots, tomatoes, etc. Guinea pigs, similar to humans, can’t manufacture their own vitamin C, so they need to supplement their diet with red pepper and many other vitamin C-rich foods. They love their fresh foods.

Please read up on guinea pig care and diet before adopting by visiting this excellent web site http://www.guinealynx.info/.

They would love a home with people who will handle them daily, keep them well fed, their nails trimmed, and their habitat nice and clean.

If you’re interested in possibly adopting Jenga and Herman, please fill out an adoption application at https://friendsofpetraits.com/guinea-pig-adoption-application/.

They are being fostered in Chicago’s Andersonville neighborhood.

Their adoption fee of $70 as a pair benefits the Friends of Petraits Rescue. For an additional $75, we’ll include a package of absolutely everything you need to care for them including a large cage, pellets, hay, hidey huts and water bottle.

And, yes … Friends of Petraits is handling masked, minimum contact, socially distant adoptions.

This is my annual reprise of a favorite post. More than ever before, with the pandemic still raging and our emotions filtered behind a Zoom screen, it’s essential we let our loved ones know how dear they are to us.

This is not a headline about spiking the stuffing with a psychotropic. It’s about the focus of this blog, cheating death by doing the things that give life joy and meaning.

For me, of all the holidays we celebrate throughout the year, Thanksgiving is the one with the most sentimientos de alegria, feelings of joy that speak to the warm-blooded emotions that ironically are not typically associated with the prim Puritans and straitlaced Pilgrims who first celebrated the harvest.

Invariably what happens to me when sitting around the table laden with the bounty from Whole Foods and Marianos, my tinnitus turns into Willie Nelson singing “You are always on my mind” with a segue to “September Song.” I turn mawkishly nostalgic; there’s a tear in my eye as I take in the presence of my family (and lost friends, sadly absent chair and place service but still in the room). I suppress a sob as my wife, wise and caring woman, raises a glass and toasts to health, her quiet benediction giving thanks to a higher power for the blessings bestowed upon us.

Typically, the younger ones look at me oddly, wondering “what’s with the tears, Papa?” “Tears of joy,” I tell them. And ordinarily that would be enough said.

But this time I’m going to add something more. I’m not going to take it for granted that they know ‘I love them.’

I want them to see me, a good Instagram photo for sure, but infinitely deeper than the pixeled surface of my face. I want them to look deep into my heart where limitless, unconditional love resides, so years from now, they can conjure up my image when I too am absent chair and place setting, yet still in the room.

I want them to have a reflection of me that comes vividly to mind when their eyes are closed, and they take a deep breath, face their fear and plunge into a moment of time when the outcome is unknown. I want them to see me then, by their side, sensing my presence, emboldened by an intuitive awareness that they are not alone; heartened by the love we shared, love that lives on long after I am a memory.

It was not always thus.

There were occasions in my past when Thanksgiving was more Edward Munch than Norman Rockwell, more like the ironic quip from spirituality guru Ram Dass, “If you think you’re enlightened, go visit your family.” I’m reminded of gatherings when suddenly, without warning, we’d be triggered by some innocuous reference or inadvertent remark, taking umbrage at a fancied slight we thought we had gotten over years ago; unconsciously reverting to the role we once played as part of the family dynamic even though the person we are now has little to do with who we were then!

But not this Thanksgiving Day. Sitting at the end of the table as the family patriarch, I will not leave unsaid what I have struggled all my adult life to say.

They will know they were loved. They will know that I loved them when my actions may have said otherwise, and that I have made amends for those regrettable times.

They will know that I love them. They will not have to wonder about that in the abstract after I am gone. I will make it clear, while I am here, at the head of the table, giving thanks for the power of love in all its glory.

My granddaughter, just turned ten years old, will not understand entirely. But she will feel the energy and hug me tight. And years from now, when those formidable moments of time I’ve described confront her, she’ll find strength and wisdom in her transcendent connection with a grandpa who loved her to the brim of the cup.

And I’ll live on.

2020! What a year it’s been….and there’s still more than a month to come.

When you look at everything that has been canceled this year, it’s easy to feel thankless.
When you look at everything that’s been lost, it’s easy to feel despondent.

But, if you take a look around, and in 2020 you may have to look hard and dig deep, you’ll find something in your life for which you can be grateful. Most likely, more than one thing. Today is a good day to focus on that. Every day is a good day to focus on that!

In 2020, when it’s so hard to find it, gratitude on this day, and every day, is everything.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Related Post: On Thanksgiving, thank you for the privilege of your time

Related Post: Even at Thanksgiving, giving thanks isn’t easy.

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The following was first posted on 11/22/18.  It was written for a non-COVID, second Trump Thanksgiving, but seems appropriate today.  Have a happy Thanksgiving and please stay safe out there:

Thanksgiving can be stressful and this year will be worse.  That I can tell you.

Other than sweet potatoes with marshmallows on top, I’m not a fan of Thanksgiving food and tend to approach the gathering of relatives with trepidation.

Coming from a largely dysfunctional family may have soured me on holiday meals.  As far as Thanksgiving goes, it seems like another made up, Hallmark holiday that totally sucks.

Some folks look forward to Thanksgiving as a kickoff event, in a very literal sense.  There are probably more football games on Thanksgiving than any other day of the year.

Not a big football fan, so I may be wrong about that.

Thanksgiving also kicks off the holiday shopping season and historically, the beginning of the end for Native Americans.

Not such a great remembrance if you belong to the Sioux Nation.  Do we really want to remind Native Americans that White people are the worst immigrants EVER?

Down below are some good reasons to avoid Thanksgiving dinner as well as some viable excuses.  If you must go, however, take a lesson from Larry David.

David, creator and star of Curb Your Enthusiasm is in a constant struggle with himself and everyone around him.  He has mastered a technique though, from which we can all benefit, and not just on holidays.

Arguments break down into two main categories.  There’s the political-religious ones, which nobody ever wins and should be avoided like Aunt Millie’s string bean casserole.

Then there’s the more personal arguments that peel scabs of of old wounds.  They generally start with things like You should have known, I told you before… or the ever popular, Why would you..?

These arguments turn into circuitous loops that can drone on until all the pumpkin pie is gone.

Instead of allowing yourself to get caught in that trap, just stop.  Take a few beats and stare intently at the other person’s nose.  Give it a good 10-15 seconds.

Then, just say, OK and go back to what you were doing as if it never happened.

To watch the master in action, click HERE.

While this technique won’t actually solve anything, you can still walk away a winner.  Most of the time, it works pretty, pretty, pretty good.

As promised:

Five good reasons to skip Thanksgiving dinner

1. You can line up early to buy a 70″ TV at Walmart for $50
2. You’re worried that cousin Eddie just got his concealed carry permit
3. It takes you a month to recover from touch football game
4. Aunt Martha keeps complaining that the government wants to take over her Medicare
5. Stuffing – ’nuff said

Five reasonable excuses

1. Toilet overflowed, have to wait for plumber
2. Volunteer border patrol duty today
3. Car stolen
4. Dog/cat keeps vomiting/has diarrhea
5. Still in Pennsylvania counting votes

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Welcome to 30 Adoption Portraits in 30 Days, hosted by Portrait of an Adoption. This series will feature guest posts by people with widely varying adoption experiences and perspectives. 

I Knew I Would Love My Kids, But Nothing Could Prepare Me for the Magnitude.
By Sierra Owens Taylor

In 2014, my husband and I underwent hour upon hour of adoption training. The training covered topics ranging from the legal intricacies of domestic adoption to the logistics of a hospital stay with a newborn.

Repeatedly during this training, the phrase “adoption triad” was used. I naively viewed my role in the triad as that of facilitator. My job, I thought then, was to make things as smooth as possible between our adopted child and her birth parents. I was responsible for making sure everyone else felt good about the adoption and life in general.

Ha!  Oh, to have such a simplistic view of adoption and my role again! What the training neglected to address, and I failed to give enough weight, is that adoptive parents are humans with feelings and baggage that we are all bringing to the table. Despite my intentions to be a selfless mediator, I found myself awash in a sea of emotions that rocked my world as I rocked my baby.

The first thing I didn’t expect to feel, didn’t feel entitled to feel, was guilt. Well, that’s not entirely true — first I felt happy, and then the crushing guilt arrived quickly on its heels.

I was overjoyed to be a mom! It had been a much harder goal to achieve than my 9^th grade health teacher had led me to believe. At the same time, my happiness came at the cost of another couple. My joy was their pain.

Over and over, I asked my husband, my mother, and myself if our tiny daughter’s birth parents felt regret. I agonized over whether the adoption agency had fully explained the services that might have allowed them to parent. I spilled tears on her sweet cheeks as I worried over her birth siblings who were not getting to snuggle her.

Fortunately, this emotion was mostly assuaged when we saw her birth parents a year later and they shared how glad they were to have made the choice they did.  What a sweet relief!

The second emotion I was unprepared for was far more complicated than the first. I was angry. I was angry at the birth mother for making poor choices with her health and body during pregnancy.

I was angry with my state legislature that had passed a law (since repealed) that made the birth mother fear legal consequences if she sought adequate medical help. I was angry at the adoption agency who had withheld information about the baby’s health in order to secure a fast and easy placement.

I was especially angry that none of this could be said aloud lest I not be seen as “grateful” enough. After all, that’s what society wants in adoption relationships. I should be grateful for my child, my child should be grateful to have a home, and birth parents should be grateful not to have “deal with their mistakes.”

Oh yeah, I was angry at people who said stupid things like that, just in case you couldn’t tell.  That particular anger increased exponentially after our second adoption, when we became an interracial family and people went from saying ignorant things to hate-filled, insidious ones.

The third thing I was woefully unprepared to experience was a fierce protectiveness, not only of my child and their stories, but of their birth parents. I am perhaps the least confrontational person on the planet. I once apologized for being inconveniently located when a woman backed out of a parking space into traffic and hit my car.

Suffice it to say, I was frequently shocked to hear my voice admonishing others for speaking ill of my children’s birth parents. While I may dislike some of the choices they made, I will defend the fact that they did the best they could under the circumstances with more vehemence and backbone than ever knew I possessed.

I often find myself in the combination role of protector and educator. Many, many people say — in front of my kids — that they aren’t my “real kids.” Usually I can calmly and tactfully explain that they are my “real kids,” but not my biological ones.

I will cop to once whispering “you can see them too?!” to a prying woman at the grocery store that I knew only vaguely, because if they aren’t real, they must be imaginary! My pre-child nature cringes a bit at each of these interactions, but my children seeing that I will always defend the validity of our family is more important. Children will change you. Mine made me grow a spine.

The last and most overwhelming emotion I felt was love. I knew I would love my kids, but nothing could have prepared me for the magnitude. I wondered if the first time was an anomaly, but my second child proved that wasn’t the case, and like the Grinch, my heart grew three sizes when I saw his gummy grin.

I was amazed by the love that came for my children’s first families as well. How could I not love the brother that shares my daughter’s eyes or the father that gave my son an obsession with chocolate chip cookies?

How can I not be forever grateful (yes, I do feel grateful; I just don’t want to be expected to feel grateful) that four people trusted me with two of their greatest treasures? I want, hope, and pray the best for them and for all the siblings, aunts, uncles, and grandparents that exist beyond our scope of interaction.

I have become a more loving, less judgmental person in general.  Through adoption I encountered raw pain, real struggle, and ridiculous racism. You cannot walk away from that experience unchanged. You cannot help but have your perspective shift and your worldview widened. More love for my fellow man was the natural end to the transformation I experienced.

Thinking of those trainings that so failed to prepare me for what I would feel, I can’t help but chuckle. After all, how could all those emotions have been truthfully explained without leaving all the prospective parents scrambling for the door?

Maybe the instructors should have acknowledged the reality of the feelings we would have, and mine certainly aren’t everyone’s, but maybe more time should have also been spent on the sheer amount of bodily fluids that children expel 24/7.

Parenthood is nothing if not a series of great and horrible surprises, each stage a veritable haunted house that is barely survived and yet looked back on with enjoyment.

I no longer try to assign myself a role within the adoption triad beyond “mom.” It’s a simple word, but its meaning encompasses everything. I will always have emotions about adoption and that’s fine.

I can feel all the feels and still be the nose wiper, drink pourer, and battery replacer that I need to be. In fact, I think I am a better adoptive parent for having let go of my unrealistic views of my part in this complicated relationship. The intensity of the emotion, if unexpected, makes it all the more exciting and worthwhile.

Sierra Owens Taylor is a stay-at-home adoptive mom to two of the cutest kids in the world. 

* * * *
Carrie Goldman is the host of Portrait of an Adoption. She is an award-winning author, speaker, and bullying prevention educator. Follow Carrie’s blog Portrait of an Adoption on Facebook and Twitter

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