While sitting at the window in Saint’s Cafe last night, a short interlude during errands, fueled by hot chocolate, the moment provided space to reflect on Thanksgiving and what giving thanks really means to me.
As a kid, Thanksgiving Day was always about food and hanging out in front of the television with my dad and uncles watching the Detroit Lions lose to someone. The fine china came out and I usually had to polish the seldom used silver for this special event. The entire family played their roles as the warm and familiar event unfolded each year.
I don’t remember giving thanks for anything though. At least not consciously.
Fast forward 55 years and Thanksgiving Day has a different meaning. I’m fully aware of how grateful I am for the bounty of physical, emotional and spiritual gifts that have been bestowed upon me and my family. I’m grateful that I can accept the days as they come and that pain as well as happiness are part of life. My job is simple — to stay present and experience what unfolds each day.
Yesterday morning I went for a ride.
The cold, gray gloom has weight and power in proportion to what value I ascribe to it. Cold hands and fogging visor were incidental to the magnificent honor I felt to be on the Vespa moving through the world. I was well aware of myriad alternatives that were far gloomier.
For each of you reading this I extend my sincere wishes for a fine Thanksgiving holiday. However you celebrate or experience the day, I hope you find happiness in the gifts you have.