This weekend, in Canada, it’s Thanksgiving. I think that we’re a month earlier than the US because of our earlier harvest season, but that’s just a guess. And why England doesn’t celebrate Thanksgiving is beyond me – if getting rid of boatloads of religious Fundamentalists isn’t cause for a national holiday…
It’s pretty easy to remember to be grateful when I’m getting two turkey dinners. One was here, so I can be grateful now that the house is so clean, but it was a busy week to get it into this shape. With Saturday being “Showtime,” it was especially busy, and we were in bed by 8:45. That’s right, we’re hardcore.
With a family like mine, it’s easy to be thankful. On the nights when I’m home at 6:30, I’m greeted by a super-happy dog, and a little girl saying “Daddy!” She’s really more interested in playing with my travel mug, but she’s happy to start playing with my eventually. My beautiful wife will also have coffee ready for me. For many people, this is a nice gesture. For us writerly types, it’s more like communion.
Andrea and I realized years ago that it was important to show our gratitude on a regular basis, especially for the small things. “Thanks for putting laundry on.” “Thank you for doing the dishes.” And the all-important “Thanks for getting up with Chickerdoodles this morning.”
About twenty years ago, when I was going through a particularly religious phase, I heard a song by the Christian band Petra called “Grateful Heart.” At that time, I prayed for a such a sense of gratitude, and I’ve been lucky to sustain that since then. Not always, but often enough to keep from getting all Goth and self-destructive.
I’m glad that we have Thanksgiving. Though most of us have lost touch with the farming cycles that birthed the holiday, it’s very beneficial to remember to count our blessings every now and then. It’s quant and a little hokey, but the truth is that an attitude of thankfulness can balance out some rough times. What’s the alternative; complaining? That just makes me miserable and unattractive.