I’m as traditional and nostalgic as anyone, and a damn fine cook. But even though l love setting a beautiful table, and making Thanksgiving dinner, my Thanksgivings have been a series of unpleasant experiences. When I think back, this is what I remember:

● I was a child at my grandmother’s house in Minnesota. The uncles hung out in the living room, watching TV. The aunts worked in the overheated kitchen. My mom and dad both came from families of seven, so there were lots of aunts and uncles and cousins, only one of whom went to prison, later, for killing his stepfather. The Thanksgiving meal was served, with all of its strangeness: green and black olives, or that odd cylinder of cranberry. Dinner over, the Canadian Club whiskey would come out so the men could relax. The women cleaned up as my uncles, red-faced and swearing, played poker at the kitchen table. They were loud and scary and we were devout Methodists, who didn’t believe in drinking, smoking, gambling, dancing or going to see movies (except The Ten Commandments). The aunts, armed with leftovers and sleepy children, had to drag the men away. Result: Fear of drunken uncles, fear of drunks.

● I was older, a teenager, and I helped my mother at her grocery store, open seven days a week, 12 hours a day, except for Christmas Day. We closed on Thanksgiving, too, but only between noon and four. Thanksgiving meant racing back and forth between the store and the house, tending the turkey, making sure the house hadn’t burned down. My half-brother, brother, uncle, dad, mom and I would eat around 3. Then we’d race back and open the store, so other people could get ice cream, sugar, pickled herring, coffee, pies, Tampax... whatever it was all those Scandinavians needed for Thanksgiving. Result: Class resentment.

For some reason, Rob is less needy lately. When he isn't in constant monologue trying to describe every experience he had while we were apart during the day, I'm more curious about how he spends his time. I have questions for him and we can dialog. This works for me. I guess without Rob breathing down my neck, the time we do spend together seems more...pleasant!

Our trip to the meditation center was helpful — our program allowed us time together apart from the group, plus time apart from each other. We struck a nice balance.

Due to the quiet-hours rule and no television, we went to bed together at the same time — a big change in routine. At home Rob retires after 11 and I fall asleep on the couch. I usually wake around 1 or 2 and go to bed. That leaves no awake time in bed together. At Kripalu we stayed up comparing notes on the workshop and laughing about quirks of the other participants. I felt downright close to him! (I even let him spoon me as we fell asleep.) 

This closeness has come just in time for the stressful holidays. We're about to embark on a four-day family extravaganza covering 1200 miles, three families, and two turkey dinners. Into that mix throw a new step-father; a father with Alzhiemer's and a needy girlfriend; and a brother who says he's not going to show up, but just might, probably drunk, flask in hand. If there's a time I ever needed a partner, it's now. 

I want to personally thank each and every one who voted for my entry in the RE-DEFINE DIVORCE Contest. I can't believe that I won. The last time I think I won anything other than a 20 oz. soda was in fourth grade. I'd read the most pages during the school year and for that achievement I won the boxed set of Beatrix Potter's Peter Rabbit. It was perfect timing. School was ending and I could lounge around and read to my heart's content all summer long.

The timing of this win is perfect too. I've been kind of paralyzed for a while. My husband leaving and the ensuing divorce had numbed me. I was like a book when the title and picture on the cover had been removed. You couldn't really tell if there was anything interesting there or not. For the longest time no one knew that I felt completely wiped out on the inside too...Blank.

At first, I thought this was a horrible injustice that could never be rectified. My life as I knew it had been taken away. It was literally erased in the space of one day! But I'm rethinking my former assumption that my life was over; just another tragic life with an even sadder ending. Now, I sincerely believe and know that just the opposite is true, MY LIFE IS JUST BEGINNING!

I am feeling more energetic. I am actually looking forward to tomorrow and the future in general. I've made some plans and I've taken some action towards making those plans a reality.

The First Wives World site and the many wonderful women I've met and befriended here have made such a difference in my life. I am reminded through the blogs, comments and discussion replies from each contributor that it is indeed my life and I do have control over it. I can give permission for others to define who I am, or with courage, boldness and renewed love and belief in myself, I can redefine my own life!

I had a fun reunion in Dallas with a divorced gal pal I just love. We caught up over lunch about everything including her social life. They're either looking' for a nurse or a purse, she said point blank. I spit out my soup. When she told me her sister just sent her and her contractor a three year anniversary card, I snorted my salad.

What's going on around the country with divorced women with respect to their social lives really runs the gamut of emotions at different times.

This particular sweet potato has been in a couple serious relationships since her divorce back when, then she attempted some online and offline dates but they weren't working out.

She realized the problem too. HER. She just didn't give two craps. I think that was a quote.

She wished she did she said, but she didn't. So she stopped dating and started picking up men — in her pick-up truck — to work at her house and then go home.

Her contractor is the current man in her life and apparently its been going on for awhile. Three years is awhile, no?

But she explained, even a steady contractor can go MIA on occasion forcing you to find a replacement.

She told me she was so excited about a recent available contractor, he thought she was coming on to him.

Something tells me it may have had something to do with her opening line — "Show me your rock hard sheet rock baby!"

Some contractors even play hard to get she said, which is why her pick up line is of choice is? ... "Hey I've got a pick-up!"

So now we know.

Some women are out there flashing sexy legs and cleavage to attract men...others are out there flashing pick-up trucks to attract day workers.

To each her own.

Attitude is everything!

Debbie

To email Debbie: [email protected]

Welcome to my recipe for disaster. On Thanksgiving Day this year my daughter will be 21. I am trying to combine a milestone birthday, a holiday, the umpteenth anniversary of my father's death and a tentacled divorce. I can't even tell you the half of it because doing so here would compromise the privacy of people close to me. I'm leaning toward Jet Blue. I will focus instead on stuffing.

My favorite stuffing story was the year I decided to make the bird at my house and transport it to my late brother Stephen's home. People were not relaxed. I was never known as the turkey girl and I that year I was going to show them! 

Everyone at the table watched in awe as my mother pulled a plastic bag of innards out of the stuffing cavity. I can still hear my brother's hysteria. This year I'm at it again...shoot me.

For decades it was my mother's Italian egg stuffing recipe. A combination of, roughly, a dozen large eggs, a handful of grated Locatelli cheese, a handful of chopped fresh Italian parsley, enough plain bread crumbs to thicken the mix till it drips off a spoon and a little salt and pepper. This then blows up inside the turkey and is absolutely delicious.

My sister-in-law Susie started going with her sausage & chestnut stuffing and my stuffing allegiance is now challenged. Actually, I am open to stuffing suggestions. Got any?

Ok, here's the latest cougar news — because everyone and their mother now thinks I am a cougar expert, except my own mother who may I remind you, I keep sending out of the country every time I am on the air somewhere talking about this. She is now a very frequent flier.

On Wednesday I was a guest on "Sex Files" on Sirius Satellite Radio Maxim Channel 108, which is hosted simultaneously by the lovely Anna David (out of NY) and the lovely Amy Spencer (out of LA). Every week they talk to men about sex, and this week's topic was "Dating & Cougars: How To Meet One, How To Woo One and How to Keep One Happy." No worries, I handled it.

Also on with us was Illona Paris, a sex therapist and self-described cougar, whose latest book out this week is called Hot Cougar Sex: Steamy Encounters with Younger Men. Her mother must live in Bora Bora.

She told hot stories. I tried to give warm advice but I used my every day Cougress voice. Wink. Listen to it here.

I should add that before allowing me up to the studios, for security purposes, I had to go through a "cat" scan. LOL — thought that was funny. Sort of purrfect timing.

Truthfully, the biggest thrill for me was hearing the show's hostesses with the mostesses, Anna and Amy, jump on board with my temporary new word for cougar — "Cougress," which I feel is at least a bit more feminine and a touch less harsh. By jove, I think I've started a movement.

I, Debbie Nigro, Chief Executive Girlfriend of FWW, am devoted to an ongoing mission to explore for YOU, my faithful and devoted now-single-again girlfriends, all opportunities related to new men, mischief, and madness. This requires a load of continuous caffeine and an occasional gown.

My latest adventure even required a "wingman." Try finding one of those on the shelf at Walmart. Let me explain.

Some weeks ago the very famous matchmaker Janis Spindel contacted me to suggest I should attend her upcoming Elegant Affair. The invitation said attendees would be attractive, well-educated, upscale professionals age 40 and up personally selected by Janis and her cupids, and that every guest would be single and looking for love. I've had worse invitations.

Though intrigued to explore this rooftop black-tie soiree on your behalf, I didn't respond in time. When I did, I was told they had more women than men, thus I could only come if I could help keep the male/female ratio somewhat even, and bring a wingman.... Meaning, someone who I wasn't dating who is also eligible.

On a day's notice, Tony Dilluvio (pictured with me at the event, above) agreed to be my wingman. Tony has come to love his new "friendship for fame" trade-off relationship with me (also see last week's Today Show clip and my Debbie Does Divorce "He Said/She Said" segment with Tony).

We each hustled over the next 24 hours doing what you do when you're going to a black tie — finding something to wear. Difference is Tony drove to a tux place and emerged in 10 minutes with the perfect ensemble.

A friend forfeited her Madonna concert ticket when she went away on sabbatical to Italy. I'd rather be in her shoes roaming the Tuscan landscape, but since that's not possible, I was happy to accept her ticket.

I don't know Madonna's recent music, but can sing every word of her first few hits "Borderline," "Lucky Star," and "Holiday" — and even remember the grapevines and jazz hands of the routines I made up to go with them 25 years ago! Anyway, I knew the show would be a mixed-media extravaganza of video and dance — why not indulge in a little escapism, rock-and-roll style?

But hours before the show, Madonna publicist announced her and Guy Ritchie's plans to divorce. So what might have been for me a carefree evening of utter abandon, singing and dancing along with Madge, turned into constant analysis of her every move. Ooh, was that sadness in her voice when she sang that lyric? Was she referring to her own pain in that song?

When she spoke to the crowd I listened only for her to mention her impending divorce. When your own marriage is on the rocks, you are keenly interested to know how others in the same boat deal.

Certainly the crowd was responding to her specific situation and trying to buoy her through cheers when she sang the telling line "You must love me." But it wasn't abandonment she was feeling when she finally decided to address the elephant in the room.

"This song is for the emotionally retarded. Maybe you know some people who act like that. God knows I do." 

What happens when a Midwestern land-lubber and her daughters take their maiden voyage with a life-long sailor and his son? The best vacation of their lives!

Of course, it could have been a disaster. All of us cooped up on a 47-foot sailboat in the middle of Caribbean for eight days: no TV, no TiVo, very spotty Internet and cell phone service. We'd taken trips together before, but nothing more than a weekend, and always with a full assortment of techno toys to keep the kids occupied. I also worried about seasickness, squabbling, whining and boredom.

Plus there was the issue of different parenting styles: he, more indulgent with just one; me, with three, decidedly less so. And J was four years younger than my youngest and delighted in playing the annoying little brother my girls never had. Oh, this could be really, really bad.

Or really, really great.

I needn't have worried. The kids delighted in their quarters, as cozy as they were, especially the escape hatches in the ceilings that they popped up and down through like prairie dogs the entire trip. We'd occasionally hear some bickering among them, then J shrieking that the girls "are killing me....hee  hee hee!"  At which point, they would dive in the water, swim to shore, build sand castles and then swim back to the boat.

Every day, a different cove or marina to explore. Every day more beautiful than the one before. And every day at 5 o clock, an elaborate cocktail hour. How veddy veddy civilized. The crew would prepare two pitchers of fancy tropical drinks, potent for us, a virgin version for the kids, and delicious complicated hors d'oeuvres. "Oh, Mommy," my youngest asked. "Can we start doing this every night back home?" Ah, she is so to the manner born.  And I am so not.

We're launching a contest called "Redefining Divorce," but I can't enter because I'm an employee — DARN!

I had visions of winning that $1,000 Spa Finder gift certificate and having 10 guys massage me at once. Oh well, good luck to the rest of you guys. In keeping with the theme though, I created the following:

"Five Phrases That Redefine Divorce" —  To Use & Amuse When Introducing Yourself.

Here's how it works.

Imagine you are introducing yourself with an outstretched hand ready for a handshake.

Now pretend you're saying, "Hi, I'm so and so, and I'm divorced."

Now I want you to try the same thing again, but this time, choose any one of the phrases below and substitute it in place of the word "divorced."

Go ahead — try 'em all out and see which ones work best for you.

"Five Phrases That Redefine Divorce" — To Use & Amuse When Introducing Yourself:

1) Hi there I'm (your name) and I only make one side of my bed.

2) Hi there I'm (your name) and I accept invitations to celebrations — plus NONE.

3) Hi There I'm (your name) and I call somebody else's husband to hang a TV on the wall.

4) Hi there I'm (your name) and I stop at rest stops along a highway whenever I want to.

5) Hi there I'm (your name), a mom who goes out on dates and has more fun than my kid(s).

If these don't do the trick then just flip 'em your naked ring ringer.

Remember — Attitude is everything!
Debbie