Sunrise over the back yard and the forest beyond, Thanksgiving Day, 2022
Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!
Twenty-twenty-two has not been the easiest year I can remember…but here we are, still gathering. As I write this, I’m on my Second Cup Of Coffee, we have the Macy’s Parade on teevee (it’s WAY better in person, we’re kind of wistful that we’re not in NYC for it as we were seven years ago, and it occurs to me that it took eleven days in Hawaii to knock our five days in NYC in 2015 out of first place on our “Favorite Vacations” list), and later on, we’ll get a feast going.
There’s always something bittersweet about Thanksgiving, and I suppose it’s just the nature of life and the march of time that this quality grows each time out. The fact that we won’t be sharing turkey with Cane this year hits particularly hard…but there’s still a lot to be thankful for, a lot to honor.
Happy Thanksgiving, indeed.
Here’s a poem, Thanksgiving, by Ella Wheeler Wilcox:
We walk on starry fields of white
And do not see the daisies;
For blessings common in our sight
We rarely offer praises.
We sigh for some supreme delight
To crown our lives with splendor,
And quite ignore our daily store
Of pleasures sweet and tender.Our cares are bold and push their way
Upon our thought and feeling.
They hand about us all the day,
Our time from pleasure stealing.
So unobtrusive many a joy
We pass by and forget it,
But worry strives to own our lives,
And conquers if we let it.There’s not a day in all the year
But holds some hidden pleasure,
And looking back, joys oft appear
To brim the past’s wide measure.
But blessings are like friends, I hold,
Who love and labor near us.
We ought to raise our notes of praise
While living hearts can hear us.Full many a blessing wears the guise
Of worry or of trouble;
Far-seeing is the soul, and wise,
Who knows the mask is double.
But he who has the faith and strength
To thank his God for sorrow
Has found a joy without alloy
To gladden every morrow.We ought to make the moments notes
Of happy, glad Thanksgiving;
The hours and days a silent phrase
Of music we are living.
And so the theme should swell and grow
As weeks and months pass o’er us,
And rise sublime at this good time,
A grand Thanksgiving chorus.
