Today I am repeating my annual Thanksgiving post which I have run for many years. And, yes, that Trump line was there years before anyone could have known...
Thanksgiving is my kind of holiday.
It doesn't require gods or miracles or tragedies or victories or angels or kings or winners or losers or flags or gifts.
All you need is some pumpkin pie, a big-ass flat screen, and a comfortable sofa to drool on.
Oh, and a little gratitude.
Gratitude, by the way, is a commodity in very short supply. Regrettably, we seem to have mountains of expectation but not much in the way of appreciation. It's a socially transmitted disease.
So this Thanksgiving let's put aside harsh judgments for a day or two. Thank a fireman. Give a bum a buck. Kiss an in-law.
I don't like Puritans of any stripe. But I like the idea of them having the Indians over for dinner. I know the detente didn't last too long, but any day you're eating sweet potatoes instead of shooting off muskets is a good day.
Be grateful that you have shoes. Be thankful that your cat is healthy. Compliment someone's posture.
If you can't do any of that stuff, then at least give thanks that you won't be dining with Whoopi Goldberg or Donald Trump. That alone should be enough.
Finally, do yourself a favor -- quit whining. That's my job.
And have a Happy Thanksgiving.
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