"Then I commended mirth, because a man hath no better thing under the sun, than to eat, and to drink, and to be merry: for that shall abide with him of his labour the days of his life, which God giveth him under the sun."
--Ecclesiastes, 8:15
Imagine a holiday devoted to thanking your lucky stars. No cards for mom, no flowers for the lady, no gifts to fret about. Instead of cake, we'll have dressing. Instead of candy, we'll have sweet potato pie. Instead of solemn speeches about wars past and the fight for respectable labor and some groundhog predicting the weather, we just stop. And give thanks. As an editor once told an excitable type, don't just say something, sit there.
Sit there and eat. Then fall asleep in front of a good football game. And just be.
At some point, maybe during a timeout--from eating or one taken in the game--we might sigh and think about how much we have good.
Nope, no politics. Not today. It interferes with digestion.
Instead, we give thanks not only for our blessings, but for our times. How lucky we must be to live in 2017. Instead of a hundred years ago when women couldn't vote in this country. Or 300 years ago when people still thought witches caused disease. Or 500 years ago when everybody--kings, queens, everybody--lost their teeth by their 20th year.
Oh, our blessed times! We're living to 100. We can be on the other side of the continent in a few hours. Of all the people who've ever lived, the vast majority of them have lived under government rule that would have killed them for the wrong words. Some people living today still live like that. Not in America.
We're reminded of the young(ish) man who worked for an international company on this holiday. He took a phone call from work. His kids groaned: "But daaaaaad, it's Thanksgiving!" To which the young comer replied: "Only in America."
Yes, only in America. Thank God.
There hasn't been a Thanksgiving like this one in . . . forever.
Yes, it is another wartime Thanksgiving. It seems like that's so every year. As much as we'd like to go to sleep and forget about the dangers of the world, the enemy is always looking to break through. Today we give thanks first and last for our own peace and security and for all those who provide it, and who may be otherwise engaged today--above or in Syria, above or in Afghanistan, above or in places that maybe the rest of us don't know about and might not want to know about.
Today we think of those families where one place at the table will always be empty. And we are reminded that there are some debts that can never be repaid.
Today, inevitably, will be the first Thanksgiving away from home for some young soldier, sailor, airman or Marine. For those far away, the turkey will have an extra flavor, the flavor of home. Like the sound of a Southern accent 10,000 miles from Arkansas. We are thankful for them all, the grizzled veterans and fresh-faced rookies, the fighter pilot who loosens her helmet to reveal her curls, the civilian working for the CIA or NSA or FBI whose greatest successes may never be known. We are inexpressibly grateful to and for all of them.
As earlier generations have done and Americans to come will surely do, this generation confronts an historic challenge--its own rendezvous with destiny. Has there ever been a war that wasn't described as entirely new and unprecedented, and as requiring new and unprecedented responses? ("The dogmas of the quiet past are inadequate to the stormy present. The occasion is piled high with difficulty, and we must rise with the occasion. As our case is new, so we must think anew and act anew."--A. Lincoln, Dec. 1, 1862.)
Of all the things that have changed since this nation was founded--after another war, lest we forget--let us be thankful that some things have not changed, like the dedication of still another generation of Americans doing their duty. Let us pray the rest of us will be worthy of them.
Americans have grown so accustomed to our manifold blessings that we may take even Thanksgiving Day for granted. We shouldn't. Let us count our blessings deliberately. Today we are especially grateful for:
All those who make the holiday possible for the rest of us. For the airline pilots and flight attendants, whom we've come to respect anew after Sept. 11, 2001. For the exhausted young intern who'll get his turkey today off a steam table in the hospital cafeteria. For harried nurses and emergency crews who might celebrate with a leftover turkey sandwich tomorrow, for emergencies don't take holidays. For the trucker who'll order pumpkin pie in the only recognition of the holiday his schedule will allow. For the tired waitress who serves it.
For the air of anticipation as folks come home for the holiday. You can almost hear the sweetest two words in the language in the rustle of every crowd at an airport or bus station or railroad depot: Welcome home!
Let us give thanks for the sound of doors opening and some children shouting and others shy and coats tossed on chairs and the feel of warm hugs and the sight of the new baby in the family. And the sudden "I love you" that catches you in the throat, and reminds you of what is truly important this day and all days. Let us give thanks for the cries of a baby in the next room right in the middle of the meal. As a preacher once said when a baby erupted in the middle of a sermon: The sound of a baby crying in the pews is the sound of a healthy church. And a healthy family.
Let us give thanks for the bustle before the guests arrive, the hubbub of greetings when they do, the same stories improved on every year, and the arguments over exactly when something in family history happened and why.
For the peace that descends at the end of the day when the guests depart and all the rituals--from grace before dinner to the plans for upcoming Christmas trips--have been fully observed.
For friends who make life sweet in the good times, bearable in the bad, and who, because they stick by us when we don't deserve it, teach us true grace.
For the presence of the past around the table--in the faces of the old, in family stories, in familiar recipes, in the voices of those who taught us the lay of the land, and in the almost unbearable sweetness of memories of Thanksgivings past.
For the labor that goes into Thanksgiving and produces such delectable results. Let us give thanks for the groaning board: for turkey and dressing, for cranberry sauce and yams, and for pies--pumpkin and mincemeat and Karo nut and sweet potato. Yes, we'll save room. We always save room.
Let us give thanks for leaving and for arriving. For the look of two-lane highways twisting through the Ozark hills in the early morning. And for the long ribbons of blacktop stretching forever through the flat, rich, green Delta, where you can see the immensity of the sky--if only you remember to look up.
The names of people and places. For girls with two names. (Bailey Lynn, Bobbie Sue.) For nicknames for the boys. (Bubba, Bo.) For the names of Arkansas towns. Smackover and Hope. Pine Bluff and Flippin and Delight. Little Rock and Big Rock Township, Natural Steps and Toad Suck and Pickles Gap Village. Don't forget Calico Rock and Snowball and Standard Umpstead. Let us give thanks for Friendship, Amity and Romance; for Sweet Home, Welcome, and Needmore; for Evening Shade and Morning Star. Why, Arkansas even has a Ralph, Waldo and Emerson.
And finally, we're thankful for you, Gentle Reader, for whom we write and report, and for the providence that has preserved us, sustained us, and has let us all reach this day together. A good appetite to you!
Editorial on 11/23/2017