Thanksgiving 2018

So apparently I haven’t written a Thanksgiving post since 2015. Maybe I should write more. This would, of course, require me to watch less. I don’t know how many hours of Amazon Prime TV I’ve racked up over this week of break, but if I did know, I would probably be embarrassed...

but still very thankful that that is even an option. I am a member of the very last generation to remember before the internet was an assumption. I recall using card catalogues in libraries, when letters with stamps were still a perfectly normal (and timely) way to contact someone, and when your personal music collection took up a couple of drawers and was only organized by the album. Oh, and cell phones were a brand-new thing.

And now we have—pause and take a brief look around whatever screen you’re reading this on—all this. I can hit a few buttons, click a few more buttons, and whoosh: these thoughts are out there for everyone from my grandmother to the nearest NSA agent to see. The closest my father could get to this at my age was a letter to the editor. Or maybe a chat room, but somehow I doubt he was that technically savvy back in 1990. Now he has a smartphone, along with everyone else—the man who grew up handwriting reports, only from what was available in the school library. My grandkids will hopefully be unable to even think in those terms. “Oh, you want to know the mating season of the Fijian Crested Iguana? No problem.”[1]

If Thanksgiving had an essence,
it would be turkey, mashed potatoes,
and this...

And it’s not just the tech. I have a couple of best friends who love me (even on my surly days), a plethora of family who love me even more (even on my annoying days), and a church with people who make sure I don’t get left at home alone on Thanksgiving—which means more than I would probably ever admit. And there was buttermilk pie. Do you know how hard it is to find buttermilk pie in northern Idaho? (And they gave me leftovers!) We played a mammoth round of Russian Palooka, had a few risqué Bananagrams, sang all sorts of lovely music. As for the rest of life, I have enough money, a job that pays the bills, good health, and more books than I will get read in the next two years, if I’m honest.

Does it get better? Sure. But please God, never let me shovel ingratitude over the blessings of the moment. Happy Thanksgiving, y’all. On to Christmas!

---

[1] March to April. https://www.australiazoo.com.au/our-animals/reptiles/lizards/fijian-crested-iguana. Now you know.

To Destroy is Easy, to Build is Hard

For a pebble is nothing, a fleck, a speck,

easily held in the hand and tossed

from palm to palm. But this trifle

can bring down a forest--

The hilltop, long still, then

jolted: hop, skip,

rattle, a shower, a crowd, a torrent, the crash

of avalanche. Such smashing asunder, subtlety thrown

out in thunderous rush as the pebble roars

with his million brothers. How to destroy

ten centuries’ growing? One frenzied ounce

 of stone changing potential.

Chaos starts small

But pebbles cannot build a temple:

cornerstones are made of sterner stuff.

Massively shaped with blade and roughed,

smoothed, and never tossed, instead:

Abiding.

(Oct. 20, A.D. 2016)