I would love to revolutionize your Thanksgiving Day speeches, but I must admit that the blessings I feel gratitude for are embarrassingly mundane.
I mean, I am thankful for weekends, babies, walks in the rain, comfy sofas, random acts of kindness, the fact that I pay so little attention at work, I am permanently exempted from having to sign a non-disclosure agreement…
I am thankful that the descendants of Abraham have been blessed to be as numerous as the stars in the sky and the grains of sand on the seashore, although they do fall short of the number of artificial ingredients in a box of breakfast cereal.
I am thankful that some states’ vote-counting pace provides a perfect strategy for dieters. (“Whoa! It turns out that combo meal I ate last Tuesday had 2,000 calories! I’ll have to take that into account the Thursday after next, when I find out how many calories this here chocolate fountain packs!”)
I am thankful that my taste buds can accommodate sour grapes. That makes it easier when my smartphone camera announces, “Storage full!” just as I’m about to snap some once-in-a-lifetime photograph. (“Ah, who needs a photo of Bigfoot hiding a lost John Lennon recording in Amelia Earhart’s plane, anyway?”)
I am thankful that – if there’s any justice in the world – all those clothing designers who refuse to standardize sizes and cuts will someday find themselves not quite fitting into their caskets or urns.
I am thankful that I can still manage to fake detecting a difference between 500 permutations of (faintly) scented candles. (“Ah, yes – the Buttcheeks & Boysenberry! I shall savor the experience until my dying day! Perhaps you would enjoy a little something I call Eau de Exertion of Just Turning On The %$#@ Lamp. Wait, there’s more! I’m also marketing a new game called Just What Foul Odor Is Debbie Trying To Mask, Anyway?”)
I am thankful that if you smile, the world smiles with you – although not necessarily at the same time and not without sneezing, half-closed eyes and devil horns.
I am thankful that I may someday be as famous as Robert Oppenheimer, since my kitchen junk drawer is finally approaching critical mass.
I am thankful that folks tolerate my inability to remember names, but let’s be honest: most people don’t have names that are that memorable to start with. You can ask (let me consult my list here) my mechanic Brad Pitt, my accountant Babe Ruth and my neighbor John Jacob Jingleheimer Schmidt.
I am thankful that there has been a pause in cases of zealots trying to “cram their ideas down your throat.” Of course, the tentative plan to infect you with their opinions via a patch is alarming in its own right. (“No, wait. Better yet: you can now scan this QR Code to have all your beliefs ridiculed to the core!”)
I am thankful to find teachable moments in life, although some days I’m less inclined to impart my years of wisdom than to announce, “Hey, go raid your grandparents’ closet and do a Seventies dress-up day!”
Don’t take things for granted this Thanksgiving. Show a little reverence.
In the words of the patriarch Isaac, “Hey, Dad, the next time you want to try a burnt offering, might I suggest a box of Fruity Pebbles, instead?”