A Thanksgiving Diary update
Thanksgiving Day, 2005
Thanksgiving Day, 2007
It’s just before five on Thanksgiving morning in a dark house. My wife’s day-long preparations are ready. In a couple hours she’ll shove in the turkey, and then later we’ll feast—the whole family.
[Nothing's changed. We'll eat later because our son is flying home in the early afternoon--otherwise, same computer, same basement, same pix on the wall. And, of course, I'm now just two months from sixty.]
I started this daily thanks business, betting on Garrison Keillor’s idea—with the hope that I’d smile more if I took a minute to thank the Lord almighty for something every day. He doesn’t need it, but I do.
[I don't regret doing the Keillor thing, spending an entire year in early morning thanksgiving--it was good for me. I really believed it was a wonderful concept for a book, but on that score I guess I was wrong. Been wrong a lot lately.]
My son-in-law has a new job, my daughter is happy, and the two of them love each other and their kids.
[The new job has worked out well; lots of stress, but what else is new. They're still a happy family.]
Our parents, despite their age, are doing well.
[But they're all two years older and two years closer to an end none of them fear and all wish would come quickly and easily.]
Just a step out of the darkness for my son is hopeful, . . .
[he's doing very well in graduate school, even went to a big-time football game--he must like the girl who took him there]
--and those grandchildren—all they’ve got to do is show up and I giggle
[well, these days I have to vie for attention, but they're still darling].
My wife and I have the loons on a lake in Minnesota
[although Bill and Nancy are selling, and while we'll get another summer, there will be no more northern Minnesota falls--unless we find some place new].
This Thanksgiving morning I’m thankful that there’s always something, always hope, always the dawn.
[Amen and amen.]