Merci beaucoup. Gracias. Spasibo. Arigatou. Grazie. Danke schoen.
No matter how you pronounce it, this is the season for giving thanks.
In 1621, the Plymouth Colony Pilgrims, grateful to God for a plentiful harvest, began the custom by inviting 90 of their neighbors to a feast. They dined on corn, barley, peas, pumpkins, berries, ducks, geese, turkeys, and swans to which Indians added three deer (sort of a hostess gift). Then, as now, there was so much food that there were leftovers for several days.
America was not unique. Most civilizations have long expressed appreciation for life’s blessings. Early Romans celebrated Corelia with parades, music and dancing to thank Ceres, the goddess of grains, for being bountiful. Sukkot is the Jewish seven-day religious observance of the harvest and of deliverance from their desert travail. India’s Pongal, China’s August Moon Festival, Korea’s Chu-Sok, and German’s Dankfest are variations of the usually autumnal day.
After the pilgrims’ first Thanksgiving, America’s new holiday became rarer and somewhat spasmodic with no set day for its observance until 1863, when Abraham Lincoln decreed the last Thursday of November the official date. Retailers, however, were unhappy, knowing that the last customers did not begin Christmas shopping until the day after turkey day; a fifth Thursday in the month cut buying time by a week.
In 1941, Franklin Delano Roosevelt made the fourth Thursday the permanent date.
To me, just one day a year seems insufficient for being thankful. Daily, I’m grateful for relatives acquired through my birth, marriage and parenthood, and lucky that there’s not an arsonist, child-support dodger, embezzling CEO, telephone solicitor or politician in the lot.
I’m fortunate to have been born in the United States. Even though true equality among races and genders has not been reached, it’s still an attainable goal. And despite Sept. 11, so far we are untouched by foreign invasion, genocide and pandemics.
How lucky I am that I learned to read in a world where about one out of every five of its 6.5 billion population is functionally illiterate, including millions in this country. With something to read, I’m not bored or impatient as I wait for a bus or a friend.
And though I’ve never been blessed with too much disposable income, I’ve always had food on the table (more tuna than T-bone); enough clothes to cover my back; and a roof over my head. I’m blessed that my home has five rooms and a bath instead of one room and a path.
On a snowy night, how chilling would be frigid trips to an outdoor latrine. I’m grateful for indoor plumbing and hot and cold water.
I feel fortunate that I don’t have to launder my dirty clothes by beating them with a rock in the river nor hang them on bushes to dry. How happy I am that I am not dependent on my ability with a gun or a plow for food, nor do I need to chop down a tree for cooking it.
I’m lucky also that my light is not provided by burning whale blubber oil. (The thought of cleaning lots of greasy lamps and carrying them room to room almost makes me blubber.)
I’m thankful that I don’t have to depend on a horse for transportation. My Mustang’s “food,” although increasingly expensive by the gallon, is easy to obtain and its consumption never requires me to shovel out the barn.
When my car dies on the road, I do not grieve; I just call AAA.
I’m blessed that many of my body’s functions are automatic. If I had to remember just a few of them – to breathe 12 times a minute, to blink every 10 seconds, to grow hair one-half inch a month, to make sure my heart beat at least 86,400 times a day, and to direct digestion from intake to outgo – there’d be no time for anything else.
Everybody has much to be thankful for, especially in 2006. For two years, we don’t have to endure political mudslinging.
Two maxims make every day a time for thanksgiving. The first – “This too will pass” – tells me to treasure the good moments and endure the bad, since both are temporary. The second – “You can’t have everything” – reminds me to be grateful for what I have.
It also suggests that I should be happy that while I have arthritis and osteoporosis, I don’t have leprosy or ingrown toenails.
Louise Turnbull is a Denver native and retired teacher who has written commercial film scripts and an animated television special.
