I never like the “big birthdays”. They inevitably force me into a rather detailed assessment of my life, in which I never measure up to the person I think I should be at the “big birthday” age. I magnify all my character defects and shame myself for the hundreds of things I am now sure I will never accomplish, lambaste myself for my aging face and body, both of which are no longer taut or firm, despite my commitment to exercise, not eating like a circus animal, and generous use of lotions and age-defying potions. Generally, I get myself into a full blown depression leading up to a “big birthday,” which disappears the minute the actual day of my birth is over.

Then I’m completely fine.

But, the weeks prior are awful. Honestly, I think these “big birthdays” take years off my life, reducing the amount of “big birthdays” I have to face!

Interestingly, I am very good at being rah rah rational about everybody else’s “big birthdays.” I fall into the cheerleader category, glorifying the birthday honoree’s tremendously good qualities, their excellent character, and detailing the extraordinary things they’ve done with their years.

This year, as I struggle through the days before the ‘big birthday,” I am remembering when the outside of me was fresh-faced, overflowing with collagen and smooth skin, so foolishly believing that was just ME, that I would look that way forever. (I laugh just writing this!) But the truth is that while I had all that gleaming virgin skin, all that fitness on the outside of me, the inside of me lacked the smarts, the character, the hard-won perspective and wisdom that the “big birthdays” have bestowed upon me.

The above was written on the weekend before the “big birthday,” but I never finished it because I was almost finished–hit by a car while I was walking my dog, Daisy. Yup. Hit. By. A. Car.

I remember I was on the curb, (the same curb I’m on almost every day when walking home from taking Daisy to the park), then I felt a huge impact on my right side, and then I woke up flat on my back on a busy road with the realtor (and friend) who sold me my house next to me. I was on absolute auto pilot, in shock, visiting the land where the surreal happens. I looked at Daisy’s face and since it looked fine. my state of mind made me think she wasn’t hurt. The realtor asked if she could bring her home and when I actually ascertained who she was, (I kept saying no, until she identified herself because she did not look familiar) I said, yes. Then there were EMT’s, police, fire fighters. I was put in an ambulance to go to the Trauma ER at the hospital where I’d given birth to my two kids. A whole lineup of doctors lay you down and remove your clothes to examine every spec of you, in a fact finding mission to see what’s what. I was then shuttled off to X-ray, followed by a CT scan. The CT scan really speaks to my shock because I am 100% claustrophobic, as in I will walk up 100 flights of stairs to avoid a tiny elevator, for instance, and when I asked if my head would be inside the machine, I just said, “give me an eye mask before I go in,” which I could never do normally. Normally, I require DRUGS with that mask. My brother-in-law Frank came to the hospital because Peter had to take Daisy to Angell Memorial, the best animal hospital in the entire world.

I was told that nothing was broken (except my spirit). Little did I realize I had and would develop bumps, bruises, and cuts all over. A concussion gave me vertigo and blurry vision. I was in the ER for the whole day and about an hour before I left, I had pelvic pain so intense, I could barely walk, and when I heard that Daisy broke one hip, subluxed the other, and had tiny fractures on her pelvis, I felt OVERWHELMING AND DEBILITATING PAIN ALL OVER. Pain that made me scared she might die, or be paralyzed. Oh, and I felt guilt. Guilt that she was hurt because I was walking her. The flood gates opened. I couldn’t stop crying.

During the first week it was painful to do anything but stare into space. The second week, things began to loosen up and improve. This week, the middle of the third, is even better–pain is still in pelvis and knee, vertigo and blurry vision are still in play, but I actually took a three minute walk yesterday, my first time outside in 15 days! I’ve begun myofacial release, super helpful, and will see an orthopedic doc next week, and begin PT.

There should be a new category in the Westminster Kennel Club Show called “Best Dog in a Crisis.” Daisy has been a patient patient–loving, respectful of her limitations (She has to be carried everywhere), and my constant, good-spirited companion. She has graduated to a ten minute walk this week! My husband who has been walking her (and doing everything for me, too, not to mention my sister and BIL who stayed with us during week one and acted as paid staff ) says she seems her happy self and is unfazed by cars. You may think you have him or her, but it’s me who really does have THE BEST DOG.

Getting better will take some work and some patience. (I’m good with the work, not so good with the patience.) But guess who didn’t even think about her “big birthday” just two days after the accident, when it reared its ugly head! And as usual, I was just fine about my new age the next day. Maybe it was because family and friends from far and wide sprung forward with heaps of encouraging messages, enough flowers to open a botanical garden in my house, so much food, I may never have to cook again and oodles and oodles of love. And if there’s anything that can help you heal, it’s that.

Lots of gratitude (for so many people and things) that all my negative “big birthday” feelings didn’t manifest into me having no birthday at all. I’m particularly interested in a fact I just found out, which is that the driver did not know she hit me. (NO WORDS…..) But, you know, maybe I’ve finally learned my “big birthday” lesson. I guess we’ll see in another five years. Until then, I’m grateful to be this age, or any age. Because it’s crystal clear to me now, every birthday is tenuous, “big,” routine, small, or otherwise.

Did you think because I have been neglecting my duties here at the gratittudeathon that I would not don my most fashionable PJs and bring it the morning after The Globes? What am I–Jo Koy (who sadly did not bring it), Shame on you for doubting me. I never miss an opportunity to damn the fashion faux pas peeps and cheer on the style stars. So, let’s get into it.

YOU, YEAH YOU, YOU’RE THE WORST.

The stylist of Rosemund Pike Clearly Took a Hike.

Apparently, Miss Apple Head said she’d opted for a veil because her face had been injured skiing. I think her style gene took the worst of that fall.

“…..And Billie Eilish as Bozo the Clown.”

This is a head-to-toe disaster worthy of a Go Fund Me. The only way to make the do worst was to add red. Yup, I’m well aware of the oversized trend, but this is bringing David Byrne’s 1984 suit back to life. And khaki on the carpet? What Was I Made For is one of the prettiest songs I’ve ever heard, the exact opposite of gorgeous Billie’s get-up.

What’s the point Natasha Lyonne?

This is what I call functional fashion. Natasha is a walking coat rack.

Selena NOmez.

Murderers in the building of this hem were found guilty of poor construction.

Bella Ramsey, graduate of the Starfleet Academy.

From the Star Trek Collection, we have one suit and only one suit. Get yours now. Operators are standing by.

J NO.

I expected more than this unoriginal, already done gown. It was just no bed of roses for me.

Laufey vs. girly curtains.

Prom dress vibes and a noose to hang herself if the look didn’t fly.

Janelle James and the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade Balloons

Your sleeve….it’s……um…..it’s in the soup.

To be Blunt, This is Ugly

The girls needed some support, the design emphasises her tummy, the tulle belonged to another dress. Can you say nuclear disaster.

YOU LOOK GORGEOUS, YOU’RE A 10, YOU DONE GOOD.

Keri Russell’s Diplomatic Perfection.

Ok, the top could have been a little tighter, but I’m just crazy about this dress. Simple lines, and all that fringe in a clean white bright. My favorite of the night.

Da ‘Vine is Devine.

Yup, I was as nervous as the rest of usthat we were going to have a Janet Jackson Nipplegate, but this was a great look. A perfect cut, beautiful hair and styling.

Jen’s a Ten.

The simplicity of her style is unbeatable. It’s always well cut and perfectly simple.

Swift and Stylish

Let’s face it, Taylor can do no wrong. This superstar is a shining example of Keep it Simple, Stupid, style.

A Pocketful of Gorgeousness

Simple is superior. Love the raw hem, THE POCKETS. This is effortlessly perfect.

Timothy, the Shining Star

The vibe was sooooooooooooo cool, I couldn’t resist, despite being a non-Chalamet fan of the non-traditional. In the tux department. this one got me.

Margot Robbie. What a Doll.

In the pink and hitting it out of the park all year long, she strikes again, with perfect Barbie girl glamour.

O (WOW) Prah.

Oprah has had herself a body transformation. This is as good as her bod has looked since she toted out that red wagon of fat on the show decades ago. I wish she hadn’t worn her glasses, but otherwise, she looks amazing.

Lessons in Style Chemistry

Brie Larson is just a lesson in perfection. This dress falls beautifully and the styling is flawless.

Sheer Delight.

In love with this beautiful dress. And boy does Riley Keough look like Granddaddy Elvis with this hair.

Lily Glad (She Wore This) Stone.

Usually not fan grilling a big drag-along cape, but I love this column dress as the star amidst all that curly black fabric.

So, whadja think? C’mon, out with it. Share your thoughts, let’s have some fun.

Have you ever noticed how the small things can turn into the big things? Like sometimes you do something tiny for someone else, but to that person, it’s like you did successful open heart surgery after they’d been told there was no hope for their bum ticker.

In the middle of September, my neighbor’s healthy 21 year old son, Sandro, with the greatest smile you have ever seen, went back to his senior year at Ohio Wesleyan University. He told his wrestling coach he was in pain, and the coach sent him to the ER, where an MRI found he had a tumor in his upper spine. He flew back to Boston with his mom Jennifer,who’d gotten herself to Ohio as soon as she heard. A few days later, Sandro has a 9 plus hour surgery to remove the tumor. A week later, he spiked a hight fever and the doctors found he had a blood clot, which was removed in and emergency surgery. That’s when things started to go sideways, because after that surgery, he lost his ability to use his legs. And then, to keep that bad news company, the next day the pathology came back, announcing his tumor was rare, aggressive, and malignant.

When do I get to the good part? Is that what you’re wondering?

Well, I started a meal sign up thingy so that Jennifer and Scott, Sandro’s stepdad could focus on him and not making dinner, and people signed up for every slot within days. And then, together with Jennifer and Scott, I created a Go Fund Me, because there were things Sandro was going to need that were not going to be covered by insurance. (A lot of things.) We all put it on our socials and sent it to our friends and family and hot damn, people started to donate. Not just friends, not just people who knew Sandro, or his family, but people who’d never met any of them before.

The Go Fund Me numbers started to climb. People were posting encouraging words. Every day more and more people were giving. Some donations were just five dollars. Some were more than a thousand.The amount didn’t matters as much as the giving. And the messages.The family was overwhelmed with all sorts gratitude. It was something so positive in the middle of something so negative. Humans helping other humans. THAT’S THE GOOD PART.

That’s the part that, in the midst of our wildly insane world, of all the shit things that are claiming to pass for normal these days, makes me feel like there is still goodness pulsating through the land. Because, you see, people caring about people they don’t know is its own kind of medicine. It’s an RX that delivers hope when things feel utterly hopeless. And not just hope for Sandro and his family, but hope for all of us.

It can be hard to know how to make the world better right now, because let’s face it, there are a lot of options!. But if you can just be nice, lead with your heart and help someone, in a small, medium, or large way, you are doing something big. If you can just show care toward a person you don’t even know, with a little love and a little wink, you are doing something powerful that can create change. If you can just try every day to do one itsy bitsy good thing that will improve someone else’s life, you’re doing something fucking transformative.

And so this year, I set aside the mashed potatoes I normally give my gratitude to on this holiday, and I give it to those people who have given to Sandro’s Go Fund Me, who’ve given to the homeless man in Kenmore Square who is there every morning with his sign, who’ve helpsed an elderly person with their groceries, or their leaves, or their computer problems, who’ve let’s the other car go, even though it’s in the wrong, who ‘ve smiled at someone on the train who looks like they might have just lost a friend, or a vital organ, who’ve said “Thank you,” ” I’m sorry,”or “Can I help you?” to a total stranger, or a person they know, or someone they love, who’ve done a thing to make someone else’s life better. Gratitude to you. Gratitude to you, who are leading with love, feeling your humanity, and reminding me that there is still good, and that maybe, just maybe that good can kick the ass of all the bad that keeps threatening to take over.

Hoping your Thanksgiving is spent with all those people you love, and lots and lots and LOTS of mashed potatoes.

If you’d like to donate to Sandro’s Go Fund Me, just click https://gofund.me/442f2044