We are an enthusiastic bunch where I come from, and that means taking advantage of every opportunity to celebrate any good thing that comes along. We start hanging colored lights before Halloween and resist taking them down till after Valentine’s and we’re perfectly willing to put up banners and flags and balloons for anything in between.
I suppose one explanation for this party-people-type behavior is that we really, truly, love to gather, and play, and sing, and dance, and nibble, and feast for a monumental day. . . or for no reason at all.
But even coming from the original “Whobilation,” place, I’ve noticed a strange thing. People everywhere–not just here–are starting the festivities way earlier than ever before. Now don’t get me wrong. I love that I can turn on the radio, right now and find just as much Christmas music as I want. I enjoy the lights coming on all over the neighborhood, and I even get a kick out of Christmas ads on the radio. But…
…what happened to Thanksgiving?
I’m not actually ready to skip it, even in the mad furry to get to Christmas cheer.
I want this time to feel grateful. I need it, because it makes me a better person…or at least it keeps me trying to be. I want to remember the things that really matter…and be grateful for them–always.
So, I may put up my lights before the next storm. And I may play my Grinch cd before we make all that stuffing. And I may move the nativity box a bit closer to the garage door. But I utterly refuse to submerge myself in the “magic of Christmas”– until I’ve filled my cup to the brim with pilgrims and leaves and cornbread and turkey…and the joy of giving thanks, for all of it.
“The Pilgrims made seven times more graves than huts. No Americans have been more impoverished than these who, nevertheless, set aside a day of thanksgiving.”~H.U.Westermayer~