Sharon Randall: For Thanksgiving: A dumpster or a turkey ... or both?

First, it reminds me to be thankful. And second, it always distracts me, if only for a while, from the realization that, after years of cooking turkeys and writing columns, I still don't know how to do either one.

I keep doing them both, yes, year after year, but I don't have a clue about how they get done.

Columns are a lot like birds. I never know if they're going to fly or turn out to be turkeys.

Lucky for me, readers are not much pickier than my guests. They say they show up more for the company than the food, and for that I am truly grateful.

What's the first thing that any normal person (yes, that means you) usually does to get ready for Thanksgiving?

Order a turkey, right?

Not me.

I ordered a dumpster. It's a beauty. I wish you could see it. It's sitting out back next to the garage, and just the sight of it is enough to make me happy.

I've been dumping stuff in there for days now, and I don't plan to quit until it's full, which at this rate won't be long.

Even my children -- who've used the house for years as a giant live-in dumpster -- have been helping get rid of stuff.

My youngest and his buddy, God bless them, spent hours this week taking apart the old backboard that had been broken for more than a year now.

My late husband, who loved playing basketball even more than he loved coaching it, built that backboard for himself as much for our children.

As with everything that he ever did, he built it to last, solid and sturdy and true.

It lasted for some 20 years, three children, and an awful lot of court action -- a record, I suspect, for a backboard -- and then one day it fell.

And now, thanks to my boy and his friend, it is packed away neatly in the dumpster, and there's a big empty place on the court and in my heart.

But I am not nearly as afraid of empty places as I once was in my life. I've learned that nothing visible lasts forever. Only the unseen endures.

Besides, empty places never stay empty for long -- garages, attics and hearts alike -- if you keep them open and available.

As a bonus incentive for Thanksgiving dinner this year, I'm inviting my guests to bring -- in addition to the usual dish to share and a box of canned goods for the food drive -- a contribution for the dumpster.

Because there's something I tend to forget. Maybe you forget it, too. I'm not saying that you do, but maybe.

Here's the thing: If we want to be truly thankful, we need to let go and get rid of things that fill our hearts with ingratitude -- old hurts, wounded pride, broken promises and backboards.

If we want to receive, we need to give as much as we can to those who need our help. They are never hard to find. The more we give, the more we will be blessed in return.

If we want to be forgiven, we need to forgive -- to offer grace and then, offer it again. Those who harm us may not always deserve mercy, but we deserve to be merciful. True gratitude begins and ends with grace.

Every year at Thanksgiving, I set two tables; one in my dining room for the loved ones who'll be with me, and one in my heart for those who'll be missed.

If I could, I'd invite you to the table in my dining room, introduce you to my children and friends and pray they didn't try to stick peas up your nose.

When, I count my blessings, I am always grateful for your readership and your friendship.

Come Thursday, I'll set a place for you in my heart.

You'll be a lot safer there than in my dining room.

Sharon Randall is the author of "Birdbaths and Paper Cranes." Contact her at srandall@montereyherald.com