Giving Thanks

Although Yule and Winter Solstice is still over a month away, Winter has  arrived in my sleepy little mountain town. The first snow to have 'stuck' is firmly glued to the ground, and a snowplow is dutifully making the rounds. School is on a two hour delay tomorrow morning. The " I saw a snowflake!" panic has begun. You'd think that people living in this region would be unflappable about this, being that we are in so remote a place and ( in theory, at least) weather changes are a minute by minute occurrence.

Thanksgiving is just around the corner. The feeling of hometown America has all but been wrung out of the holiday this year, if you listen to all the talk on social media. Over at the Patheos website, Jason Mankey has written an article for his Raise the Horns blog aptly named "Killing Thanksgiving" [http://www.patheos.com/blogs/panmankey/]...and I agree completely. Thanksgiving is the single most wholly American holiday we share in this country, and yet we are allowing huge corporate businesses like WalMart and their ilk to dictate how and when we celebrate our family traditions. We have given them our personal power for a few dollars' discount on possessions.

All the warm fuzziness of the Waltons and Hallmark movies aside, there actually was a time when families came together- some members traveling long distances just for the occasion- to actually share a home cooked meal. In my house- and I know we were by no means unique- that gathering was a somewhat strained and teeth-gritting affair. Looking back I suspect we did it more out tradition than a feeling of family unity, but my personal contribution to the day was attending some sort of interfaith community Thanksgiving service where gathered to actually give thanks for all the good things in our lives and to recognize in public ritual that it was possible for the variety of religious traditions in the neighborhood to assemble in the same room without having a holy war. It was a quiet, humbling hour or so, when the world stopped and we huddled under the mantle of our personal idea of the Divine. "Raise the Song of Harvest Home" was sung lustily, although most of us had no real experience of living in an agrarian culture.

When I was a kid Thanksgiving was the start of the Christmas shopping season and not a day earlier.
There was usually a parade on the morning of Black Friday, then people went shopping in earnest in downtown or drove out to one of the malls. But Thanksgiving was always reserved for getting together and catching up with one another, preparing and eating a huge meal and then falling asleep in front of a football game on TV in a turkey/L-triptophan induced coma. ( I have a theory that the oil that burned in the lamps at Hanukkah was actually turkey grease because nothing last as long as turkey grease. If you've ever hand-washed dishes from a turkey dinner, you'll know what I mean- it will be spread all over every glass, fork and dish you touch).

Maybe I'm just a nostalgic sap, but I think Normal Rockwell got it right when it came to Thanksgiving. I wonder if he'd be painting families trekking off to the mall instead of gathered around a lace draped table, beatific faces shining, as they gazed upon the visage of Turkey Incarnate.
Somehow, that same family huddled in the food court outside of Macy's doesn't have the same effect or feeling.

On Turkey Day I will break out what's left of my thrift store silver plate and lay out a spread of food worthy of a photo shoot in a magazine. I will put Martha Stewart to shame. And all the effort will be worth it just to have that momentary feeling of connection and tradition. There will be no trip to WalMart on Thanksgiving or Black Friday, because I refuse to give over my personal power. I will refuse to cave into the pressure of advertisers and I will not be tempted to over-spend on tawdry gifts.

What I will do-after I degrease the kitchen and company has gone home-will be to fix myself a cup of hot tea and reflect on the past year and the harvest of my life. I will give thanks to the gods and goddesses of the soil and remember those who labor to tend the land. I will give thanks for having enough- enough food and material possessions, enough to be safe and comfortable through the cold winter months. I will think of the time when I didn't have my own home, and be mindful of those who are in the situation I was in just a few short years ago. I will sit in the darkness lit with a single candle and savor the warmth and the flavor of the cup in my hands. And I will be thankful.

***   ***   ***   ***   ***   ***   ***   ***   ***   ***   ***   ***   ***   ***   ***   ***

A House Warming Potion

1 cinnamon stick
6 whole cloves
1 tsp ground ginger
1 tsp allspice
zest of 1 orange orange or lemon
three drop orange oil
1 cup of water
1 sprig of pine, cedar or juniper

Place all of the above in an enamel pan and simmer on the stove to release the fragrance throughout the house. Adjust the spices to your liking. Simmer for as long as you like, and store the cooled contents of the pan in a glass jar to be used again.

15 Days of Thankfulness: The Last Three Days

The 15 Days of Thankfulness has ended-it's been a wonderful exercise in gratitude. Somewhere in the back of my mind I have an appreciation for things that I don't express, but should. The past two weeks has caused me to think, to dig deeper, to examine what there is in my life to be thankful for-and why.

I purposely left the last three days go so I could do them together, because I think this post will be a fitting end to the 15 Days of Thankfulness.

Days 13-15

If you've been following this blog any length of time, you know that I came to where I am now on my spiritual journey because I wanted to enlarge my concept of the Divine. Rubrics, dogma and guidelines are wonderful tools which point you on  your way in the beginning. Everyone needs a map to get to where they're going; you need to be pointed in the right direction. By right direction, I mean right for you-and you only. Spiritual relationship is a personal exchange, it's an individual path, and you make the journey alone no matter how many others are heading in a similar direction. Notice I said headed in a similar direction, because the crowd may be facing East, but what you see defines what East is for you...and no two people are standing in the same spot, so they don't see things exactly the same. The unfolding of your path is your own personal journey, and as such, your experience is what colors it.

So first of all, I am thankful for a spiritual path where there are few rules to follow and less obstacles to connecting with the Divine. I like the accessibility of being able to focus at anytime in any place and know that my inner most thoughts and desires are being heard without ever having to speak them- because oft times words fail to fully convey the feeling. I am thankful for a spiritual path that allows me to see the God of my understanding in myself, that restores my birthright to being a co-creator of my Universe, that give me the freedom to explore the religions of others and take into myself things which will enrich my sense of worship. I am thankful that any time I want to commune with the Divine I can with the assurance that I am heard.

There are a lot of things that make me laugh. I probably laugh at myself more than anything else, because being human is ironically comical at times. We do some amazingly crazy, silly, funny stuff in spite of our presumption that we are the dominant species on Earth and have dominion over everything else. That presumption alone makes us pretty funny.

I loved the TV variety shows of the 60s, 70s and 80s; some of the best comics of the era were guest stars or starred in their own shows during that time. We've  lost exposure to a lot of talent since that genre of TV died out; I personally think the demise of the variety show has contributed to the dumbing down of the entertainment industry in general. Entertainers who hosted their own weekly variety shows- Carol Burnett, Red Skelton, Dean Martin, et al, were not only specifically talented singers, comics or dancers, but dabbled in other areas: singers tried their hand at acting and dancing, dancers were actors, comics were actors and singers and some did a little of everything. That's the definition of the word Superstar to me. Many of them were terrific comedians simply because they could pick the irony out of everyday life and present it in a way that made us groan in sympathy or identify with the subject. That's what made me laugh. Many of the so-called comics currently fashionable get laughs by embarrassing an individual or group, and the laughter is mean-spirited and vulgar. I really don't like laughing at the expense of another person's  misfortune; it's just cruel, and I suspect the root of so much of the bullying we see today begins this way. Lucy used to get into some hysterical predicaments-like the time she was working in a chocolate factory and lost control of the conveyor belt and started cramming her mouth full of chocolates to hide them. That was funny, and no body got hurt. More to the point, everyone understood the emotion behind it-that's what made it funny. We were amused by Lucy's antics, but secretly, we were laughing at our own.

What am I thankful for on the last day ? I am thankful for food, friends and fellowship; for music and art to enrich my soul and satisfy my spirit; for friends and animals past and present who brought joy and companionship to my life; for the beauty of Nature and the connection to that place of Deep Indwelling where I truly exist and live out my life.

Happy Thanks-giving and Abundant Blessing throughout the year.

Thanksgiving, Perspective and Abundance

"Being thus arrived in a good harbor and brought safe to land, they fell upon their knees and blessed the God of Heaven who had brought them over the vast and furious ocean."                                                                                                

                                                               ~ William Bradford

I think we're all pretty much aware that the image of  happy Pilgrims and Native Americans celebrating the first Thanksgiving is at best bogus if not an outright fabrication. It's simply a case of the victor writing history to suit his purpose. I was raised on a sanitized tale of Pilgrims sailing nobly to America and making friends with the Indians, bolstered by cute cut out cardboard decorations from the greeting card store. For many years that's how it was for all of us until around 1970, when someone burst our collective bubble and the realization that this wasn't just another potluck social starring our ancestors. The reality of the Pilgrims landing in the new world was gritty and grim. It seems the story was destined to be romanticized from the beginning if you consider the opening quote by William Bradford, so we can't blame it all on the greeting card companies.

Before it carried the Pilgrims to the New World, the Mayflower (as part of the British merchant marine fleet) carried wine from Bordeaux, France to Devon, England for at least a decade. Delivery of the Pilgrims to the mouth of the Hudson River was just another business assignment. The term Pilgrim-more descriptive of their mission than their group- wasn't actually used  to describe the First Comers to this part of the New World until the 1800's: before that they were refereed to as Separatists. The Separatists were a group of religious dissidents who believed it was necessary to leave the Church of England due to persecution by King James. One of the hallmarks of the Separatists were their use of the Geneva Bible, a translation of the Scriptures disapproved of by the Church of England. The group moved to a more religiously tolerant Holland for a few years, but returned to England when they were contracted by a London merchant in 1620 to establish a warehouse venture for the storage of timber, furs and whatever they could find of value in America.

The voyage last for nine weeks of mishap and stormy seas. Originally the Mayflower had been accompanied by a smaller ship, the Speedwell, which leaked so badly both ships had turn back to England. When ready to set sail again, the Mayflower, loaded with 102 passengers and crew, sailed alone.

At this point the history becomes muddled: the original landing site was somewhere near the mouth of the Hudson River, but records show that the group had permission to settle in Virginia. Instead, they landed near Cape Cod, Massachusetts...quite a bit of a mistake in navigation, if you ask me. They spent a month anchored just off the rocky shore while a group of passengers, including William Bradford, went ashore to explore the area. According to Travels of the Rock by John McPhee (Princeton University Press http://press.princeton.edu/chapters/s5_7108.html), Bradford was in the woods on day when he was accidentally caught in a trap cleverly designed  by one of the  native inhabitants. Once freed, Bradford and the exploration party proceeded to search the area and found a storage of  corn in buried baskets, which they acquired for their own use. Coming across the grave of a child, they pillaged what they considered the best of the belongings buried with the body. Little wonder they had arrows fired at them from unseen attackers in the nearby woods numerous time before the sun set that day. (I guess grave robbing was permissible by their religious standards and personal ethics because they considered the native people of the area a lesser form of humanity.)

When the scouting party of First Comers returned after some time to the Mayflower, they discovered that Dorothy Bradford had committed suicide by "going over the side of the vessel" and drowning. Months passed before the group dared to  finally walked through sub-freezing water and ice over the rocky shore to land. Most of the passengers on the ship had been ill with pneumonia and scurvy, and less than half of them survived to make settlement.

The Native Peoples of the region were familiar with the Europeans who had been exploring the region since the late 16th century. In southeastern New England, the Wampanoag and Narragansett people have been following an agrarian cycle of farming and fishing for thousands of years and ultimately taught their new neighbors those skills. In return the Europeans brought infectious diseases with them for which the Natives had no natural immunity.  Many villages were totally wiped out by measles and small pox.

The Pilgrims and Natives kept their distance until nearly a year and a half later, when they had contact with Samoset, a Native elder, who greeted them in broken English he'd learned from some other Europeans who'd come to fish in the area. It was he who introduced Squanto to the residents of Plymouth Colony. Squanto had been kidnapped by a sea captain in 1614, but returned to his people five years later. He remained a part of the colony as an ambassador until his death many years later.

There are only 2 reliable historical accounts (http://www.pilgrimhall.org/1stthnks.htm) of the "First Thanksgiving", which was actually a Harvest Festival the Pilgrims celebrated every year at home in England. To them, a day of thanksgiving was designated each week on the Sabbath, so there was no need for an additional day to give thanks.( There is a record of a special feast happening about three years after the establishment of the colony, to give thanks for the intervention of Providence after an extraordinarily long period of drought being ended by a rain storm.)

 "Freedom from Want" by Norman Rockwell

Some of my friends don't celebrate Thanksgiving, citing the bad treatment of the Native Americans by the Pilgrims. I agree they were indeed treated abominably and I understand. I can appreciate their wish to stand in solidarity with those they feel were wronged. On the other hand I would also like to frame the situation in a realistic light. The Europeans of that era believed their colonizing effort was just because they were 'improving' the area in the manner commonly in use in Europe at that time, which included permanent settlements and their own methods of farming. They introduced the Christian religion because they believed they were chosen to do so by a Higher Authority. While none of these actions are excusable in any manner, I'd like to point out that we are also judging people from hundreds of years ago by the current standards of our society. That is incorrect, also. While hardly justifiable in what they wrought upon the land and its inhabitants, we cannot frame these events by our own morals and ethics of the present day. We must allow for  a genuine understanding of the mindset of the day, which was very different from our own. Stripped of it's emotion, the situation is less volatile: the natives fought to retain their right to land they had lived on and worked on seasonally for centuries while the Pilgrims were fulfilling an agreement for which they were contracted. The bottom line for them was that it was a business deal, and they'd given their word to hold up their end. Like it or not, that's what it comes down to- it was all " just business" as the popular phrase goes these days.

My take on this is that I reject the negativity created by the story of the First Thanksgiving. That does not mean that I have forgotten who wronged whom, and I believe that the single most important lesson that has come from all of this is that we as a people should never allow this type of thing to happen in our lifetime. We cannot change the past or continue to hold a grudge against people who were long dead before our own great grandparents were even born. Remembering and agreeing are two completely different things, therefore a remembrance to honor the beginning of our country's history is not out of line. It has never been a perfect history and many objectionable events have taken place in it's forging- but it is there, none the less and continuing to carry on the anger and pick at the wounds every year when we should be celebrating being thankful in the spirit of gratitude is a greater wrong. The phrase, " Would you rather be right or rather be happy?" comes to mind. What do we gain by continuing to beat our breasts and crying over what we personally had no involvement in? Accept the lesson, and move on.

I'd prefer to think of Thanksgiving as simply that: thanks-giving. The day is about being thankful for what is manifest abundance. Individually,we have a lot to be thankful for no matter who we are and how much we struggle. Every one's  life could stand some improvement in some form, but we've all been blessed, we've all received something unexpected, something we have not earned and do not deserve. Every one of us. Be thankful for those things. Stop to acknowledge that which has come into your life unearned or uninvited, even the things that seem go wrong or be wrong. You will be surprised by the gift of resiliency you find and the personal tools you develop to survive. Isn't that something to be thankful for?

Thanks-giving is about what is plentiful in our lives, not about Pilgrims and turkeys.

 

The Last Days of Autumn

Once again we've survived the chaos that has become Thanksgiving: the relatives have gone home, the dishes are done, the all-day football games are over and the turkey carcass is summering on the stove....It's quiet. Blessedly quiet, and we all breathe a collective sigh of relief that the world has stopped and let us get off, if only for a moment.

The whirlwind of last minute grocery shopping and preparation for the blow-out feast is now a memory. If your home is anything like mine used to be in the days when I was the ring master in the Great Thanksgiving  Circus, it's somewhat of a shamble. The dishes weren't quite all put away and there was a large group of cartons containing leftovers lurking in the refrigerator like a street gang just waiting until the door was opened.
The kitchen still smelled faintly of turkey grease, and you'd just stepped on a piece of chewed gristle the cat had earlier- in your bare feet. And you were tired,but filled with a little self-satisfaction that it you'd fooled everyone and managed to pull it off once again.Go you! Time to let Calgon take you away...

Ever since I figured out that Black Friday was created to kick off the Christmas shopping season and I wasn't obligated to contribute to the confusion, I've pretty much eschewed going anywhere near a mall and opted instead for a walk around the neighbor hood or a drive that took me just far enough away from everything that I had distance between me and the scene of the previous day's activity. One year it was a trip down Route 9 through the wetlands to watch the blue herons, stop at the local farmer's market, then lunch lone at the Smyrna Diner; another year it was a drive to the Veteran's Cemetery to sit by the reflecting pond and feed the ducks and geese. There were a couple of years where I worked retail and was at retail ground zero- it was fun and exciting, but I was exhausted and slept through most of the next day, which was basically lost time. Last year I read a book and listened to some Christmas CDs.

The days between Thanksgiving and the First Sunday of Advent have always been days out of time for me. I want to hang onto the Autumn like the last leaf, but I always find there's a point where I, too, finally let go and spiral down, adding my withered spirit to the pile of spent things of the old year represented by  so many fallen leaves. I think I must join the spiritual compost then, because I nearly always feel a bit off and out of sorts, dazed and slightly confused and wondering where the time went.Ruminating  a few days while I put away the last of the Autumn decorations and bring out the boxes of Christmas/Yule/Winter things, I feel better and by the time I light the first Advent candle, my soul begins to shake off the mulch of deadness.

More Holiday Memories:The Best Turkey Stuffing Ever

A flock of turkeys...Benjamin Franklin called them majestic and lobbied hard to have the wild turkey recognized as our national symbol rather than the bald eagle. All due respect to the distinguished former Ambassador to France and Statesman, signer of the Declaration of Independence, et al, I'm glad his suggestion died a-borning. Can you imagine the eternal humiliation of enduring various versions of turkey jokes that little fax pas would have heaped upon us as a nation? One has to wonder if the copious amounts of alcohol Franklin ingested during his tenure as the  Numero Uno American Party Guy in France and his raucously crude sense of humor were factors in this genius idea. The thought of a turkey in bas relief on every coin struck in American mints would be enough to send me screaming over the border into Canada...Can you imagine the 'Silver Turkey' instead of the 'Silver Eagle' dollar? Doesn't have the same elegant sound to it, does it?

Have you ever seen a turkey in the wild? I didn't see one until I was well past my 50th birthday on a trip up Mount Mitchell,  in the early days of my new North Carolina residency, but I knew what it was immediately.

About two feet tall, scrawny  and dull brown, it little resembled the image of the Tom Turkey with full tail and colorful plumage picture on the front of Hallmark cards. I suppose the fact it had been raining all day and it's feathers were soaked until they drooped didn't help...neither did the huge scaly  feet and claws. On the Ugly Bird Scale of 1 to 10( ten being a vulture) it was a 9.5 .It appeared from the brush beside the road and did the most amazing thing...the damn thing flew off. I been told all my life that turkeys couldn't fly, and this one took off running, flapped it wings a couple of times, and got enough altitude to escape over a fence.


Turkeys have nothing to recommend for themselves in the beauty department ( except to another turkey), but they can't be beat for taste and versatility. Roasted turkey with the trimmings is just about the best meal there is, hands down, and that's probably why we save having one only two or three times a year.That. or the amount of leftovers...we should be grateful our ancestors didn't have bison at the first thanksgiving or we'd be eating the leftovers from Thanksgiving until Spring...

My favorite part of the whole thing is a piece of brown, crispy skin and a heaping helping of stuffing from inside the bird. Some of the newer culinary advice I've read is to not stuff the bird because it cooks unevenly, or that the bacteria from inside the bird collects in the stuffing-I've never had either of that happen, and personally, I'm filing that information away the same place I put the folder on the herd effect of not getting a flu shot and tattoo ink can be sucked out of your skin by an MRI. My grandfather used to make and stuff the holiday turkey (and throughout the year chickens and rolled beef roasts) decades before I was born, and I've never experienced a bird with raw spots in it or heard of someone getting food poisoning because they stuffed their bird, and I would imagine if it happens at all they are isolated incidents...at any rate, I'm still stuffing my turkey for Thanksgiving.

Pop was a chief trained in the Army at the Cooks and Bakers School at Fort Dix. He was a fabulous cook and the only criticism was that because he was trained in the Army to cook, he always cooked like he was feeding one. When I was 12 years old he taught me how to make pumpkin pie, and we ended up with 11 of them because he couldn't reduce the recipe he had in his head down any father than to quarter it. He taught me to make the filling by sight and consistency, and the resulting pies I've produced over the years have been nothing short of miraculous if I do say so myself and I've never had a pie fail unless I've burned it.

The best part of Thanksgiving in the food department for me was the stuffing, and Pop had one of the best recipes I've ever tired...a loaf of stale white bread,moistened with a bit of milk and a couple of raw eggs, sage, salt, fresh ground pepper,and rosemary; chopped parsley, celery, onion, grated carrot and garlic sauted in butter and everything mixed together. He would vary it by adding sauted mushrooms,sauted spinach or smoked oysters, or chestnuts- and sometimes put all three types in the bird separated by an aluminum foil barrier between them. The secret ingredient in all the varieties was chopped fried bacon and a bit of bacon grease. He would stuff the bird,tie it shut and add more stuffing under the neck skin and fold it under, then loosen the breast skin and coat the meat underneath with solid butter he'd kneaded  in his hand until soft. More butter was spread over the bird ( again, using his clean hand), and then thick strips of 'seasoning bacon were laid across the breast and legs and wrapped around the ends of the drumsticks to keep them from drying out. It basted the bird nicely into a desirable golden brown, and the crispy bacon would crumble and end up in the bottom of the pan as part of the drippings used for gravy. The bird was set in a roaster and basted with the juices that dripped down throughout the roasting time and the result was a glorious gift of love. ( I will add that after removing it to a cutting board, he would flip the bird over to rest on it's breast and cover it with a large steel bowl or foil for 10-15 minutes so the internal juices would follow the gravitational flow to the breast meat, which was always moist, then flip it back over and unload the stuffing into a bowl. He never cooled the stuffing in bird, and that's probably why we experienced  the fabled bacteria problem.( **Leaving stuffing to cool in the bird, or worse-storing it in the bird- is just asking for trouble.**) Stuffing in my house exists under the two-day rule, but frankly it never has lasted until Saturday! Next day stuffing  was pan fried as a crispy patty, sort of like a potato pancake and smothered in gravy open-faced sandwich style.

I have made dressing ( inside the bird it's stuffing, on the side it's dressing) and it isn't the same.It becomes something less, a side dish. Even the addition of turkey or chicken stock has left it wanting; I believe it's the slow cooking inside the bird that makes the difference, or maybe it's the continuation of family tradition.

This is my favorite Thanksgiving-themed illustration by Norman Rockwell, Cousin Reginald Catches the Thanksgiving Turkey ( circa 1920). Not the lavishly detailed one showing Grandma proudly serving a succulent roasted turkey to an adoring family, or the one where the bird is being carved and the kids are having an orgasm over the thought of their own crispy drumstick, or even the one where heads are bowed in prayer over the modest dinner set on the table in a tiny roadside restaurant. No, dandy Cousin Reginald, clothed in his city slicker Sunday Best being chased across the farmyard by a turkey nearly his own size while his country cousins and their dog cheer for the bird (and you know they are!) is my favorite holiday Rockwell for this time of year. Why? Because it's believable. Because it reminds me that my cousins were once just like this...because I was that citified kid once-upon-a-time, and I can relate. Because there's more irony and truth in the painting where the kid is being chased by his intended meal than the one where the freckle-faced kid with the big ears and his whole goofy family are gawking at the perfect Thanksgiving dinner could ever convey for me. Because in real life things don't always go as you planned, sometimes you get laughed at, and you're forced to make a hasty retreat  empty-handed for all your effort, no matter how much bravado you manage to muster...and it continues to be that way for all time.

My grandparents spent the first part of my childhood trying to replicate a Norman Rockwell existence. They grew up in a world illustrated and interpreted by him . His idealism made them forget how dirt poor their neighbors and they really were: family life-the American Way-was raised up in all it's blue-collar glory on the cover of Life magazine during the war and post-war years.Never mind that you turned in the collars and cuffs of your favorite clothing so they'd wear longer and were darning your socks. They looked to those magazine covers to see who they were instead of the mirror because their real, everyday existence was too drab and painful to have stare back at them. They strived  to become the personification of Life magazine according to the Gospel of Rockwell. It gave them hope for the future, but meanwhile, life didn't look too bad. They believed it was how things were supposed to look and be, and they knocked themselves out recreating the family gatherings  portrayed.  Forget that we had to eat spaghetti every Wednesday night  because it was the only way we could possibly afford a holiday dinner later. The few 'found' dollars we had from eating  prudently was put into Pop's Christmas Club savings account from work, and they financed the Rockwell-style gatherings we had for the aunts, uncles and cousins at Thanksgiving and Christmastime.

I'm not knocking Norman Rockwell at all- he was an excellent artist. He understood what was in the heart of the Common Man and celebrated those little moments that made life bearable because we could gaze upon his paintings and know what we shared in the struggle. He celebrated diversity and praised patriotism. He was ahead of his time by portraying women in all walks of life-as factory and farm workers, professional teachers and nurses -even in war zones- not just as mothers, girlfriends and grandmothers ( but he did that, too). His illustrations and paintings showed real people-faces lined from worry, wrinkled from harsh farm work and age, hair of all colors, styles and conditions, and well-worn clothing old and new. He knew us, and maybe that's why my grandparents trusted his ideal. I none of the magazine  I've looked at recently reflect my life or who I am, and it almost feels like an intrusion to view them rather than an invitation to flip through their pages. The models are all pretentiously posed and seemingly bored with their existence.They are Photo Shopped into perfection.

Maybe the real reason why I love Cousin Reginald Catches the Thanksgiving Turkey  is because it reminds me that you shouldn't take things for granted, and that when you paint the picture that is your life, you should do it with as much detail as possible, and that the colors you use can be subtle to get your point across. Life was once simpler, and we can still have that picture if we consider what needs to be included in the composition and leave all the distractions out.

Thanks-Giving is Thanks-Living

Thanksgiving...

Turkey roasted with stuffing and gravy. Pilgrims looking properly stiff in tall hats and cloaks. Indians in native regalia.Football. Christmas Parades. Black Friday.....wait a minute...isn't this supposed to be a holiday for giving thanks to (insert deity of your choice) for an abundant harvest? When did this become the flood gate to Christmas shopping?

The official Thanksgiving holiday floated around the calendar in the United States until FDR finally fixed it on the fourth Thursday of November in 1941 and Norman Rockwell immortalized it in so many paintings.( My favorite being a large turkey chasing a kid carrying an ax who had intended to make it into dinner.) Then JFK was assassinated in 1963, and that sort of put a damper on things for awhile.

What about those very proper, starched Pilgrims and very heathen-looking Indians sitting down to the Feast to End All Feasts, the women folk serving up roast turkey and ears of corn? They were immortalized by Hallmark, damnit, and the good folks at Hallmark wouldn't lie...would they?

During my childhood innocence I remember singing," Come Ye Thankful People Come" and feeling very close to what I thought it was like to be a Pilgrim. It was the weaving of wonder by an elementary school music teacher ( whose name I have forgotten, but who's love of holidays I have not.) Thanksgiving was the day your Mom sweated bullets because she was cooking the biggest dinner of the year for relatives no one really wanted to eat dinner with. It was the day the men of the family gathered around the television after a huge meal, half of them grunting like Neanderthals when their team scored, the other half snoring through the game in a Tryptophan-induced coma.It was the time of year when school children were dressed in tall hats made from oatmeal boxes and construction paper feathers to reenact the first Thanksgiving in Plymouth for the PTA. It was when the stores began gearing up for Christmas shopping in earnest. It was the only time of the year when the choir sang, " Over The River And Through The Woods" because, well, didn't everyone's Grandmother live in a little cottage on the far side of the village? But the best part of it all was that  Sweetzels ginger snaps in orange and black boxes were on sale everywhere post Hallowe'en...

Then there was the Annual Thanksgiving Service, which used to be celebrated in every little church across America. Later, it morphed into the Thanksgiving Ecumenical Service (during the early 80's) to include representatives from every  faith tradition in the community...if you worked really hard at contacting your fellow clergy, a brave rabbi might show up-as if Jews didn't celebrate Thanksgiving-to sit among the Christian ministers. If you worked really, really hard at it and you were well-liked in the community, both a rabbi and a Catholic priest would attend. Everyone lined up, organized by the minister in the host church, to read a bit of scripture from the Bible or mumble an obligatory prayer of thanksgiving for the country. As a new deacon, I recall these events being challenging and uncomfortable because the prayers had to be generic and not reflect the dogma of your personal denomination lest you offend visitors. I wonder now how they would react if a Wiccan or Pagan priest or priestess were invited to participate...or if a Native American came by to give thanks to the spirit of the turkey for sacrificing it's life to feed all of us hungry congregants.

After a while there weren't any church services Thanksgiving morning ( 'folks are too busy cooking dinner') and for while the service was held the night before, then eventually that stopped, too( 'folks are out of town, not enough people would show up for a service'). Pretty soon the majority of society forgot that Thanksgiving was primarily designed as a civil religious holiday on which to give thanks for what you received during the previous year, and to humbly ask for even more during the coming year (pretty cheeky idea, actually).

As I got older, the singing stopped, the annual big blow-out dinner became totally my responsibility, nobody watched football ( or whatever Disney had on), and I got to clean up said big blow-out dinner alone, because my mother and step-sister were in such a hurry to get home after they ate that they couldn't wait for me to clear the table and store the food, much less slop turkey-grease coated dishes through several hand-washings because we kept running out of hot water before the mountain of used eating utensils, pots, pans and plates could be washed squeaky clean. I will say one good thing for turkey grease: it's a great emollient.. After two hours of picking at a 20 lb. turkey carcass, my hands had never been softer any other time of the year. The bones were immediately put into a pot of water with sliced onion, garlic, vegetables and seasoning to start the biggest and best pot of soup all year. Turkey soup is truly a gift directly from the Gods.

My favorite part of Thanksgiving was after everyone went home, the football games were over, and Mom went to bed. Then I could drag out the platter of turkey meat, stuffing and gravy out of the refrigerator and have my own private feast, in it quiet. It was the only time I felt thankful during the whole holiday, and I suspect it had more to do with oral satiation than anything else. I just wanted to relax and enjoy some food in the peace and comfort of the dwindling evening. Sometimes I'd light a candle and eat my mini-after feast in silence, or accompanied by a little humming of " Come Ye Thankful People Come" (which I now sing at Lughnassah, because I feel it's more appropriate...or Christmas carols on the stereo ( phonograph, you know, that thing that played records-flat black plastic disks the proceeded CD players that use flat silver plastic disks...).

The next day would be HUGE...Black Friday. It even sounded exciting...Black Friday.There were mobs of people everywhere. For a long time I actually thought it was another holiday until I realized the whole idea of an early Christmas parade was to get people into town to shop. Truly, in my unsuspecting innocence, I believed it was the thing we all did the day after Thanksgiving, in fact, it was the American thing to do, since the National Guard and every Scout troop from far and wide showed up to parade down Market Street. 
It was a celebration! I didn't have an inkling that it had anything at all to do with crass commercialism, child of the Age of Innocence I was then. Besides, Santa Claus checked in to collect his mail at the end of the big she-bang, and if the intention of the day was anything less than pure, he wouldn't have bothered, right? Later, working in retail, I recall the thrill and hum of Macy's on Black Friday (and the thrill of time and a half) when the store was so jammed with holiday ha ha I couldn't even get off the register to eat lunch (or dinner). It was a glorious time to make memories.

Memories...That's what I believe to be the true meaning of Thanksgiving. We are to remember to give thanks...Giving thanks... what we should already be doing all year long...being truly thankful for what we are given throughout the year. The practice of gratitude transcends thanksgiving into thanksliving...acknowledgment of the little things we receive every day.A smile from a stranger passing on the street, someone holding the door for another...daily kindness we all can share, and truly counting our blessings great and small. Thanksliving. It doesn't cost anything, doesn't take up much time, and everyone can do it-if they choose. Gratefully living in the moment, and gathering abundance like so many fallen  Autumn leaves...how beautiful life is to live in gratitude.