Thanksgiving 2024.
Well, well, well. Here we are again, a nation caught in the crosshairs of geography, politics, egos, moans, drones —and where the hell are we now?
Our new president-elect has been declared immune, our country is not yet in tune — and how long will we rift and drift until things settle down?
(After all, who would have ever imagined the word “subpoena” would become so common, spellcheck was no longer a necessity.)
Gosh.
So once again, it’s time for Sneed’s decades-old annual Thanksgiving Day gratitude list and a special hope for peace and civility at our Thanksgiving tables and a focus on the joy of simple abundance and the gift of life.
Here goes:
Family. However you find it. But do find it.
Living in the present; finding joy in the past.
Taking chances.
The brilliant Cher film “Moonstruck” and every gut laugh in it.
The memory of mom’s Christmas mincemeat pie.
Laughter … and watching reruns of Detroit’s mid-1950’s “Soupy Sales” lunchtime TV kids show with “Soupy” and his hand puppet pals “Black Fang” and “White Tooth,” which morphed into a classic pie-in-the-face adult hit. OMG! Hysterical.
Magical thinking. A dry martini.
Memorizing a poem.
Trusting someone enough to share a secret.
Forgiveness. Empathy. Sanctuary. Hope.
Listening.
Peace.
A new friend. A new perspective.
Confidence.
A sweet dream.
Sunrise anywhere; the shimmering morning brilliance of a porch-laced spider’s web.
Birds’ songs, especially the meadowlark, the sound of cuckoo birds on a dark Tuscan night.
Good knees (please).
Daydreaming. Whistling. Singing … alone in the freedom of a car.
Separating fools from folly.
Catching the gently blowing cottonwood tree flotsam, once used as pillow stuffing.
A kind heart. Courage. A good rain. Distant thunder.
Fireflies, grasshoppers, the chirrup of crickets at night, the sudden hoot of an owl that doesn’t call my name.
A cherished children’s book: “Tubby the Tuba,” the poet William Butler Yeats’ “The Song of Wandering Aengus,” writer Wallace Stegner’s Pulitzer prize winning novel: “Angle of Repose.”
Trust.
The comfort of animals.
Curiosity.
Dusk.
Time off. Timeout.
The written word. A Sunday newspaper, always.
Truth. Candor. Tempered by understanding.
Taking a hand, patting a shoulder, being there for someone, having someone there for you.
Music. Silence.
Walking in safety … anywhere.
Kindness. Giving. Sharing. Taking when necessary.
Atonement.
Curiosity.
The gift of life.
My country.
The month of June, which was surely named for my mother.
A father’s legacy: my garden.
Childhood friends who remember what you were like back then.
The Missouri River.
Peonies.
Wisconsin’s Cedar Crest butter pecan ice cream, the elusive maple nut ice cream made at Jilbert’s dairy in the Upper Peninsula of Marquette, Mich.
The joy of wonderful neighbors.
Sunflowers pointing up.
Whistling in the dark. Laughing until it hurts.
Calling Chicago my home and my heart since 1965; growing up on the miracle of a North Dakota prairie in the lilac-blooming late Spring.
For all of this, I give thanks … always.
Finally, a reflective quote from the past in the midst of unsettled times by Trappist monk Thomas Merton, who faced despair in a powerful prayer … hoping God would never leave him to face the unfaceable.
“I have no idea where I am going. I do not see the road ahead of me. I cannot know for certain where it will end … Therefore, will I trust you always though I may seem to be lost …”
A Happy Thanksgiving everyone!