Thanks

The emissaries of November came to my door last night in full force, clad in sparkly tutus, so many Spiderman costumes, and a renewed presence of Detroit Lions jerseys. Their parents— surprisingly, most of them fathers— wait by the front gate, while their pillow-case wielding progeny test out their independence with a sharp knock on the door, a clear annunciation of “Trick or Treat”, and, largely, the most genuine “thank you” one will ever hear once the goods are delivered.

This is the night the season of gratitude is ushered in.  Unlike the upcoming season of holly and ivy, this season is remarkably sparse on preparation, needing only one trip to the grocery store, a handful of hours of transportation, and an object-lesson reminder of how linen napkins are ironed.

Its demands for official celebration are small, but its expectations for observation are huge. They seem easy enough, with the simple task of going round the Thanksgiving table, asking the occupant of each underutilized dining room chair and folding seat to tell all what they are grateful for. But the absence of shopping rituals and Thanksgiving carols creates a sparsity matching that of the skyline of empty branched trees. With less to do before the feast, there is more time to ponder, and consider what truly moves us to acknowledge the good we feel in life.

Not the good we see. The good we feel.

Some cues come from life itself. The leaves may be gone and the daylight hours dwindling, but the emptier skyline allows the sunlight that remains to extend its splendor like no July day can claim. Local cider mills eke out just enough cider for Thanksgiving weekend before their harvest is complete, but the corresponding dip in temperatures provides a reason to drink cider warm— and that is the only reason cider exists. Beyond the bounty of plate and platter, Thanksgiving Day itself provides room to see more good, including a mildly bloviating uncle who worships a president we’ve never heard of, reminding us there is a good kind of crazy, and the world is better for it.

Honoring this season is not an easy task, since it requires a good amount of quiet in a society replete with forces nurtured by noise. Setting aside political discourse, challenges of home and workplace, and the urges of society to see this time as an opportunity for four additional weeks to put the consume in Yuletide consumerism may come with challenges. But the reward — living each day with a greater appreciation for the purpose and depth of each breath— takes us somewhere new, better, where all conflict is seen in greater perspective, and typically becomes more manageable.

All as a result of turning off the radio on the drive home, giving the children fifteen minutes of unsupervised screen time on a device that is parent controlled, or simply letting go.

I wake in the middle of the night as Halloween slips away without farewell. The fall wind is rushing outside my window as if I had a cottageside seat on a Great Lake. I think of a life on the water, where all dreams are slightly damp, and hushed in blue gray, but somehow seem more possible of fruition.

“Thank you, dear God, for this good life, and forgive us if we do not love it enough.” (Garrison Keillor)

Especially this month.

Commute

I moved to the suburbs
And was offered a $59 pudding cup
If I bought a power blower
With the credit card they wanted me to have.
I turned them down
And watched the game
With a sack of pork rinds.

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