Posts tagged: Thanksgiving Day
Good morning, Netizens…
This morning’s David Horsey cartoon makes a logical if not a factual statement about the United States Thanksgiving Day, in that most Americans have either dismissed or entirely forgotten the true history of the first Thanksgiving Day and everything that has transpired since. Most Americans, unfortunately, do not want to be reminded of the atrocities they committed in their juggernaut rumble through history.
However, it should be noted that, despite the bloody history of the whites versus Native Americans, those same Native Americans were busily killing one another, making members of other tribes into slaves and other travesties long before the original Thanksgiving Day ostensibly spent with the pilgrims. They were as bloodthirsty and as savage, in some cases, as that of the white man.
However, as any student of history will quickly confirm, Thanksgiving Day, the original Thanksgiving Day, could just as easily be a national day of mourning as it could be a celebration. All one has to do is perform a little digging into the ancient histories of the Native American tribes and how they ended up where they are today.
It is a sobering thought on Thanksgiving. Your results, of course, may differ.
Good morning, Netizens…
Here I am at my appointed time and place, more or less doing the
same routine I perform nearly every day the year, despite the holiday. My family are here
around me, some still slumbering at this ungodly hour of the morning;
some have already left for work; some of my friends have already left to
be with their families but the rites of Thanksgiving Day are already
more or less complete for everyone I know. My grandaughters, son-in-law and beloved wife
plan to be sitting down together by about five PM today, and some might not understand when I state I could
ask for nothing more than to be surrounded by my loved ones on Thanksgiving Day.
In retrospect, I remember other Thanksgiving Days when things were not so clear or dear to my heart. A long time ago I was the titular landlord at a rough-cut pair of apartments off Ankeny in downtown Portland and moreover, I quickly surrounded myself with lots of faux friends from the University and other business interests. I collected the rents, paid the bills and made repairs when someone’s toilet or sink stopped working.
On Thanksgiving Day I was oriented toward my social life, preparing for a huge feast at my girlfriend’s house and not paying attention to much else. About mid day I received a call from one of my tenants that his next-door neighbor had been discovered hanging in his apartment, dead of suicide, and could I come and tell them what to do.
Of Steve, I only knew he was a “loner”, a strange man with no apparent friends or family, and that he frequently was seeking professional help for some of his personality disorders. I knew he often wandered around the apartment complex at odd hours muttering strange things in an undertone which didn’t really seem to freak anyone out, just a tiny annoyance in an otherwise unsettled area of Portland-town. I knew his family had more or less disowned him, he had few if any friends and paid his rent on time using federal social security checks. That morning, standing in what was once his living room, peering at his body hanging from the rafter in his threadbare apartment I suddenly began to cry for no apparent reason other than how, on a day of thanksgiving, a day of feasting and joy Steve had chosen to end his life alone. Later on, in the word of a hard-bitten street cop who showed up to take a report, Steve had run out of options.That phrase stuck with me since that fateful day, and I always remember Thanksgiving Day in that manner.
Since that day until now, each Thanksgiving Day I always look at my circle of friends and acquaintances to make certain they are not alone, stranded, lacking any other options on this holiday. Leave no one behind.
To anyone else, those who are with family or friends on this day of Thanksgiving, I implore you to hold them close to you, love them with all your heart and pray that you are thankful for all the many blessings that your life may have, remembering of course, that for my family we wish each and every one of you a most happy Thanksgiving Day.
Good morning, Netizens…
Happy Thanksgiving to you and all whom you hold dear.
Over the last week I have been distracted from any proper celebration of Thanksgiving Day, although in my quiet time each day I have been increasingly mindful of how many wonderful things I have to be thankful for. Today, Thanksgiving Day, arrived, as always, well before the dawn with a damp gray blanket of fog extending from the banks of the Spokane River to my house. Tiny tendrils of mist, which is about all the fog that reached this far, tentatively reached out and caressed last summer’s lilac bush that once blossomed in sweetness so early in the morning, and for now is slumbering for the winter yet to come. By the time daylight arrived, the fog tiptoed away on its silent feet, retreating back to the river from which is appears to have been borne.
Each year about this time of year I always remember the birds that went before this time, the free-range turkeys I had raised by hand in Stevens County, and how their peculiarities made them more and more difficult to kill each year for the annual feasting. I submit that everyone who eats a turkey dinner on Thanksgiving Day should hand-raise turkeys of their own at least once in their lives. That experience changes you in subtle ways.
Mature turkeys tend to be ungainly, ugly critters, actually, once they are no longer tiny, cute chicks safe in their heated enclosure. They tend to be either very astute, smarter than most birds, or dumb enough to become dinner for some sharp-eyed hawk that soars silently overhead looking for an opportune, unwary meal. Once they reached maturity, most of my turkeys slept overhead in the trees during night time, although a few preferred to sleep in their coop. Cowards.
Turkeys made a cheap, effective burglar/intruder warning device, among their other features. At the first sign of an intruder, be that human or otherwise, the tom turkeys immediately set to with a hue and cry that would pierce your eardrums. Since I did not have any neighbors in the vicinity, that never bothered anyone, save for the unfortunate burglars, including one that once got a taste of rock salt in his britches for his trouble.
Here in the city, I cannot raise turkeys by city ordinance, although I would prefer that task to the birds available from the stores. However, I cannot help but wonder how well our “free-range” cats in the neighborhood would fare against a dedicated flock of turkeys? My money is on the turkeys.
Think about that as you sit down to eat your Thanksgiving Day feast today.