Ghost of Thanksgiving Past

It's that day again.

The day we set aside to be thankful so we can get it out of our systems and feel good for a little while.

Even though I'm not home for Thanksgiving, I'm glad that I have a family that I could be with. I'm glad that even when I'm with my family, I have a home and friends and a welcoming place to be and eat food that we all worked together to make. And it seems like on Thanksgiving, everybody is supposed to have similar thoughts as these. It's like, one of my rights as an American to have a warm, well-fed Thanksgiving day and dinner with others. But, I know that though I wish it was an enforceable right, it's actually more of a privilege. There are a lot of people that are hungry and cold and alone right now, while I am enjoying my "rights" to a nice Thanksgiving.

It might be worth considering that the social and economic systems that helped set me up with my Thanksgiving are the exact same systems that deprive others of theirs.

There's something profoundly wrong with this.

It will only be right again when we can all share Thanksgiving together and no one is left out.

One of my Nepalese dormies was telling me that he thinks it's strange that America only really has like, 2-4 holidays where everyone gets together, and where it is expected that you will spend time home with your family. I guess this happens more often in Nepal or something.

It's interesting how time passes between major events. If you work all week, and live on the weekends, you only remember them. Then year is no longer 365 days long, but rather 52 weekends long, which goes a lot faster. Maybe time seems to go quicker as you gain recognition more spaced-out landmarks and patterns in life.

We used to go to my grandma's house for Thanksgiving. And our cousins would come over. There were 6 of them and 3 of us in those days. There was a steep hill in the field behind the barn, and we would "run" (by the time you got to the top, you weren't really running anymore) up the hill to catch our breath at the top. Then someone would start back for the bottom.

The game was to run as fast as you could down this incredibly steep hill. The grass was tall, the ground was bumpy, and waiting to catch your inevitable stumble and fall at the bottom of the hill were the masses of thistles. We pushed each other and fell and rolled and screamed and went back rather scuffed up. Mind you, this is on Thanksgiving, so after being called inside to eat impossible quantities of my grandma's/aunt's/Dad's awesome cooking, we went back outside - relatively heavier - and proceeded to again hurtle down the bumpy hill.

I was just thinking about how much I looked forward to that every year.
And, about how it will probably never happen again.

I haven't had a Thanksgiving with my family since I started college. When I get out of college, my brother will start college. More of my cousins will be in college. And when we ALL get out of college and only have careers to contend with... it's possible that some of us won't think it's the funnest thing in the world to run down a hill until we fall in a pile of thistles.

Man. I guess I'm going to have to keep dealing with these kinds of realizations if I keep having to get older.



Among other, more serious things, here's something I'm thankful for:
This fall was beautiful. It's getting cold and gray and rainy out there now, but I saw some pretty awesome leaf displays earlier. They're so beautiful. I tried taking some pictures but there's no way I can hold the full spectrum of glory in a 4x6 frame. So painfully beautiful because I know I cannot take it all in. I cannot remember it well enough. But while it was here, I appreciated it overwhelmingly. The impermanence adds a clarity to the beauty. Look now I tell myself, because even if you live to be a hundred, and even if every autumn you experience is perfect, that's only 80 left. 80 left, tops. And that is not enough.

It seems almost necessary - that pain - to help me appreciate the beauty.

I hope somehow there's a possibility for all beauty and no pain.

And then, maybe we all sit down - everyone - and enjoy Thanksgiving together because no one will left out.