OOOOh I Love New Friends!

Tags

bigotry, minarets, Muslims, Switzerland, terrorism

When I read about this, I just wiggled and giggled with delight, and thought about getting some appropriate gift for my new friend–Switzerland!

Indeed, though it would be highly unproductive to do so out here in the Meadow, I’ve a mind on Wednesday when I return to the city, to give a good shout-out in the Walmart parking lot calling forth any Swiss citizens. I just want to hug to stuffings out of them.

We are muy simpatico as they say. Hadn’t you heard?

It seems that by a 57% majority vote, the fine citizens of Switzerland have voted that Muslims who erect mosques within the confines of the country will be prohibited from adding minarets to their peaks.

It seems that the Swiss are increasingly concerned about being overrun by Muslims who presently constitute somewhere between 4 1/2 – 7 % of the population. There are at present something like less than half a dozen of the pointy edifices on Swiss soil, and one must take a stand.

This has prompted the rest of the Swiss to hang their heads in shame, post placards at “vigils” saying “This is not my Switzerland” and well, otherwise point the finger down the road at some other poor schmuck as the one voted for such a bigoted law.

You ask why I am so giddy with glee at all this? Why because, as anyone with a brain knows, this wandering around in the desert by ourselves in the land of unforgivable bigotry, grows tiresome. (Way to make that connection to Exodus hey?) We are no longer alone as being insufferably bigoted towards people whose only crime seems association via generalized religious belief under the rubric “Islam.” We now have FRIENDS!

Yes, indeed, proof indeed that America is not the dumping ground of every right wing wacko on the face of Mother Earth. I think that grounds for celebration don’t you? We are not alone! It’s akin to finding life on another planet doncha think?

I just want to call up everyone I know. “Did ya hear? We aren’t he only bigoted idiots on the globe any more! The Swiss, can you believe it, are nutty too!” Yay, God can turn his attention and the spotlight off us for a while! Cartwheels are in order here folks.

I really can’t tell you how relieved I am. After finding that nearly everyone whom I went to high school with has become a flaming fundie and stooge for Fox news (well some of them at least),  I had considered my escape (read Exodus?) from said Mayfair district, Flint, Michigan, to be a miracle of sorts, worthy of a life time of thanks to the dear Lord.

“Thank you from saving me from being an idiot, Lord.” I’m a liberal and still sane.

Still, one has to accept the disease of crazy towel biting insanity seems to have spread widely in the US of A. One attempts to remain calm, yet they are effective after a sort, in derailing and weakening any number of legislative initiatives by their deliberate lying and plain lack of ability to see truth spitting at them in the eye. Personal selfishness has that tendency to overcome rational thought apparently.

Seeing this on every freakin’ issue of substance in the last year, I began to wonder if it were sabotage or something. Maybe in the pre washed spinach, or in the Domino’s pizza? I thought perhaps Starbucks, but then realized that they were too foo foo to be trusted with such a deed. I wondered if perhaps it had to do with NASCAR. Perhaps the tickets were saturated with stupid juice. I was seriously investigating all this, mostly so as to avoid contamination.

Now, I don’t know where to look. If the infection has spread to Switzerland, then, well, maybe the culprit is chocolate (gasp) or watches. The latter, I can handle, since I seldom wear a watch. The chocolate, oh dear Lord, how can I avoid that most perfect of foods? But no, it can’t be that for I consume plenty of it every week, and you can see, my liberalism is strongly intact.

So, well, whatever the cause, I’m just so pleased to know that we are no longer alone in the land of crazy. So Europe, get a grip, we are not your little toy to punch out any more. We are not the sole repositors of eyeball spinning stupido beliefs or logic. There is a new kid on the block, and he’s in your back yard. So there!

Now we can finally say what we have all been thinking all these years: Swiss yodeling is simply awful. Just sayin’ between friends ya know.

I Want to Ask

Tags

advertising, celebrities, courts, creationists, evolution, Gitmo, journalism, Madison Avenue, Media, Muslims, pets, rapture, terrorism, Young earthers

It seems an opportune time to rid my brain case of a few puzzling thoughts. Ain’t you glad you stopped by?

I want to ask all those who oppose trying the Gitmo detainees in American civilian courts if they have ever read the Declaration of Independence? I mean, given the fine patriots you all claim to be, I would think it would be something you read regularly at your patriotic meetings. Am I wrong?

There are lots of reasons why the right wingers don’t want the prisoners tried in open American courts. Mostly to keep the dirty laundry in the hamper I believe. Don’t want to let those Muslims use courtrooms as soap boxes to spout their rhetoric and at the same time, report all the sordid things done to them do we?

The one that is utterly ironic to me is the argument, that “they aren’t American and thus not entitled to our rights.” This is where the Declaration comes it. I believe somewhere in that document is says or words to the effect,

All men are created equal and are endowed by their creator with certain inalienable rights, . . . .

Does this mean what I think it means? All as in A L L? Didn’t one Georgie Dubya Bush talk about how it was our Christian duty to export democracy around the world and so that everyone had the wonderful rights we have? Hows come, the flip folks? No what goes around comes around? Enlighten me please.

I want to ask creationists what research they have done that proves their thesis that the earth was created by God around 6,500 (+/-) years ago? I mean scientists do science and offer their results to the world for examination and retesting. For reformulation, rehypothesizing, and new testing. What creationist has done any research at all?

It seems, as has been said by others, that they simply mine the data field, picking and choosing here and there, and then making up arguments without proofs of any kind. You’re beliefs are not testable propositions. Show us the research that proves your claims. Dare ya.

And don’t give me that bull that you aren’t required to be both a creationist and a young earth proponent. Course you are. If you believe in Genesis, creation story one, they you believe the earth is flat. That’s what the text alludes to. Are ya not smart enough to see that?

But of course, you probably aren’t smart enough, cuz if you were, you wouldn’t be a creationist in the first place. It’s why you believe that Stephen Colbert is a conservative too. You don’t have much grasp on the concept of irony do ya? Enlighten me.

I want to ask those ad men and women, just where in the H2O you came from? Why do you continue to run ads that are offensive and counter productive to your presumed cause?

Case in point. There is a ad for a toilet. Yeah, I know, who needs a commercial for THAT in the first place. But watch. The married dude sees a sexy “plumber” and then tries to sabotage his toilet by throwing all manner of crap down it, just so as how he can call the plumber and ogle her I guess. In walks the wifey as he is pouring dog food down the john. This is supposed to entice me to purchase your product?

Or this one: Levi Johnson talking about being protected or something. And then a wise guy banging another’s head onto a table to crack a nut. This to sell pistachios. This is neither humorous nor tells me anything I want to know about nuts. Except that you are one. And the idiot who decided to pay you for this is even more of one. Enlighten me.

I want to ask the media just how long ago it was that they started offering a course in “how to phone it in” at all our major schools of journalism? What you claim as journalism is sophomoric to say the least. Bloggers are making you look silly dudes.

We don’t mean Foxy of course. They are not lazy, they lie on purpose. They have an agenda, and lucky them, a following composed of atrophied brains so useless that said watchers cannot tell the difference between fact and fiction in the first, second and third place.

No, I’m talking about the insipid drivel that passes for journalism virtually everywhere. Every news cycle is dominated by more non-news that news. Tiger had an accident. It may be all innocent, or it may have a lot to do with a marriage gone sour. I don’t know, I don’t care, I don’t have any business knowing. Some celeb wannabe’s crashed the White House gig. Who they are? I don’t care, I don’t CARE!

Same for Letterman, and Oprah, and that Mackenzie had sex with daddy, and that Mike Tyson has grown up, and that Whitney has seen the light. I don’t care. I don’t care. When will you people get that I don’t care? Sigh.

I do care that 1 in 6 people today is applying for food stamps. I do care that our health care system is an immoral morass that caters to those with sufficient income. I do care that the climate is going to hell in a hand basket and nobody is doing much about it. I care you see about what real people are suffering through. I don’t give a rat’s bottom what rich people are “suffering” through mostly through their own stupidity and arrogance.

Can you all get that? I want to ask somebody, anybody. And while your at it, when you have nothing better to do, then at least promote things that are worthy of real consideration. Like this fine piece:

A site called Eternal Earth-Bound Pets, makes the following claims:

You’ve committed your life to Jesus. You know you’re saved.  But when the Rapture comes what’s to become of your loving pets who are left behind?   Eternal Earth-Bound Pets takes that burden off your mind. 

We are a group of dedicated animal lovers, and atheists. Each
Eternal Earth-Bound Pet representative is a confirmed atheist, and as such will still be here on Earth after you’ve received your reward.  Our network of animal activists are committed to step in when you step up to Jesus.

It seems right up the alley of those aforementioned brain leakers. They have so far had 100 takers and operate in 22 states. I guess, I should have something I want to ask them too, but I’ll have to think a while on this one.

Spooky Human Behavior

Tags

career, humanness, professional expertise, science, uniqueness

One of the most enduring mysteries of human evolution seems to me our utter uniqueness amongst ourselves. As I’ve met up with a variety of ex-classmates over the last few months, most interesting has been the lifestyle choices. Out of a fairly small, (mostly 1 x 1 mile) area, an amazing divergence has developed.

One person becomes a teacher, another a transcriptionist, another a cultish self-styled biblical “expert”, another a dealer in Vegas, a message therapist, and the list goes on. We all grew up together, spent years of schooling learning the same things, had many of the same experiences as youth, yet we go on to quite divergent careers. What was perhaps to be expected, but still a shock was just how few went on with their education in any fashion.

This is something I have thought long and hard about, at least from time to time. Traveling down any road, highway, or street, especially at night, often gives rise to such thoughts. I peer at homes, seeing lights on, and wonder at the lives of these unknowns. What separates the ice road trucker from the nuclear physicist?

If you look for answers, I have none. I merely raise the question. The issue often comes up for me again when I view any type of science or nature show. Always I am met with the dinosaur expert, the expert in late Paleozoic plants, the experts in fruit bats. They are sometimes comical. They nearly shiver with excitement at the discovery of a frog in Brazil, or a new fern in Patagonia. They are wild-eyed with joy at their discovery.

We return to their labs and find their treasure of 3,542 individual fire ants. After 32 years of meticulous collection and examination, they are ready to put forth a well supported hypothesis of why the fruit fly female gets busy after sex instead of sleeping as usual. This is “shocking” and thrills their colleagues. I can’t begin to imagine spending 32 years on such drivel.

Another decides it is fruitful (no pun intended) to determine whether chimps enjoy music as we do. I’m not here to criticize the choice of research. Oh not I. I would not presume to guess at the long term benefits of such knowledge. I read only yesterday on some body’s posting, a paraphrase of something Einstein said, “We have no idea what we are doing. That’s why it’s called research.”

Well, that all got me thinking on how one with a scientific bent decides on the sub/sub/sub speciality that they will devote their entire lives to. Some of it no doubt relates to what really turns one on, but again, I ask you, how orgastically thrilled can one get over the el Nino effects on Pacific squid? I mean, okay, for  a month or two, maybe, but for years? Come on. Be serious.

Another factor may be one’s aptitude, and here I can see the point. Rather dull scientists obviously must choose carefully those things they can actually understand. And no doubt there are dull scientists. There are certainly dull lawyers and dull doctors. I can absolutely assure you that there are, so there must, ipso facto, be dull scientists.

One is tempted to think that most of them end up at Kellogg’s testing new varieties of frosted flakes. I certainly don’t know where the bone yard is for not so bright “scientists.” Perhaps they always work under someone else, and wash a lot of test tubes. You may know better than I on this.

Another factor, undoubtedly, is how much recognition one desires. If you are the type who wants to be known as a “world-renowned” scientist, then I suspect you are going to sub yourself to death, finding the most obscure area where there is small competition and your mere entry into the field will nominate you almost immediately as being “one of the foremost in the field.”

I mean I got to think that you are in a pretty small group if your “passion” is prehistoric dung in the African plain of Kenya. Perhaps it helps in making you seem not entirely weird to announce, “I specialize in dung, but I am a world expert!” I recall a wonderful Catholic priest who loved to announce that he was an expert in masturbation, having written his doctoral thesis on the subject, but that’s an entirely different story.

I guess, and this is speculation (when has that ever stopped me?) that scientists fall into their specialties for pretty much the same reasons the rest of us fall into ours. It just seemed like the right thing to do at the time. Some of us stick to it for a lifetime, others of us, change boats at various ports of call, and have a list of “occupations” over a life time. Another part of our uniqueness I guess.

So now that the holidays are in full swing, I’d suggest you spend some time thinking about this wonderful subject. It will keep your head on straight as you maneuver the landmines of professional style shopping over the next several weeks. If  you come up with any answers, pray do tell.

Are We Having Fun Yet?

Tags

depression, Iowa, life in the meadow, pets, Thanksgiving afterthoughts, walking

Whew. . . . I take it you made it? I mean you survived the day? All that mound of food, irritating relatives and watching the never ending saga of the sad Lions and another loss?

And this is just the beginning. We get to do all this again, and more in about a month. Is there something ever so slightly masochistic about all this?

If yesterday and the previous three days of preparation weren’t enough, a surprising number of otherwise sane appearing Americans forewent sleep and even set up pup tents in parking lots in order to be first when the doors opened at 3 am. All to secure what are undoubtedly amazing deals on electronics and clothes and other “must have” items that somebody can’t live without.  (Read: if you are a good parent you will secure said item for your children.)

No, I did not participate, although the idea of a lap top for $299. at Best Buy was intriguing. Learning that people camped out all DAY yesterday in order to get one of the 7? they had, well, I am glad I am a more principled person! I did not succumb, but rather archly commented “amateurs!” and other such epithets as I snuggled deeper into the quilt.

No way that we were ever going to do that, though the Contrarian offered to wake me up should I wish to head off at 2 am. He would not, however, be accompanying me. Yeah, like I thought he might?

We had a good meal yesterday. Most everything came out as planned. The dressing was to die for, and we both were full way to soon. It continues to drive me nearly insane to realize that I spend probably six solid hours of work on food that is consumed in 30 minutes. It does not seem fair. The best fall out is that we warm up everything again for today. At least I don’t have to come up with a menu for dinner today!

The Contrarian did the clean up which was deeply appreciated. The dogs got turkey, gravy, and some taters. The cats strut around wondering why they never get such treats. Several of them mentioned this to me, so I guess I’ll have to come up with something. Milk doesn’t seem to be a sufficient “extra” so they say.

I’ve recognized the onset of another bout of depression. The weather has been atrocious the last few days, rainy and/or cold/windy/dark/crappy. I’m feeling awfully achy and out of sorts. The Contrarian suggested that I not walk today–“take a break” he suggested. But I figured that the sun shining today was an invitation I should not turn down. It was cold, but not too windy, and the sun was helpful I think. Anyway, I feel a bit more energized.

Mostly it’s back to business as usual. Back to studying again. It’s on to EXODUS! We all have our wildernesses don’t we? We all have our hopes in the promised land, however we define that.

Walking today, I noted that as usual, the dogs pay very little attention to me. Brandy turns around now and again, just to make sure I haven’t slipped off to a vehicle to go for a ride. Otherwise, she and Bear trot ever further ahead of me, and arrive back at the house several minutes before I do. My only real companion is Spencer.

I must say, Spencer, in his aging has mellowed. Once the hell cat from well, HeLL, he has gotten older, and is now rather a sweet older guy. He’s around tenish, give or take a few months. He walks with me, although he often lags behind on the walk to the road. Sometimes he tires and stops and waits my return. Today he walked most of the way.

Unlike the dogs, who as I said, leave me in their hurry to get back to the house, Spencer walks behind me, then races ahead, only to stop, sit and wait until I catch up. If I stop to catch my breath or turn my face to Sol, he comes and brushes against my leg, then sits patiently. He is my new buddy, more faithful than his cousins.

Kate occasionally follows in the summer, but she keeps up a constant whining complaint both up and back. Neither Calvin or Hobbes would dream of wasting their time following a human on a walk. For that matter, neither would the Contrarian.

The Contrarian believes in powered vehicles for movement. Enough said. He’s weird as you know. He’s always talking about eating and drinking anthropologically, but never seems to make the connection to the  purpose of legs and feet for movement from place to place. If he can ride, he will, even if it’s a hundred feet. He likes his tractor and his truck. He’s a man. Enough said.

I promise myself not to get “into” the hubbub of the holidays this year. Mostly I will not. We play down Christmas here. We select a “gift” that we both can enjoy. We let it go at that. I’ll feel slightly jealous and left out, but mostly I won’t. I won’t be frazzled and bedazzled. I won’t face hideous bills in January. I can concentrate only on the thing that matters–Spring!

Are You are Real Thanksgiving Player?

Tags

cooking, recipies, Thanksgiving

The pie is in the oven, and after three and one half exhausting hours of toil in the kitchen, I’m ready for the final push tomorrow. So I thought I’d stop and tell you all about the importance of doing this puppy up right.

For you see, there are basics to this holiday that need to be adhered to if one wishes to claim that one has “cooked” a Thanksgiving extravaganza. Fail here, and you are a lightweight at best, and a total fraud at worst. But then, your family may be willing to accept that from you.

First, lets attend to the menu. Now, for sure, menus vary across the land, north south, east and west. We don’t know what to think of those weird places Alaska and Hawaii, I don’t know if they even know about Thanksgiving yet.

That said, there are certain requirements. Turkey is essential. As is mashed taters and gravy. Dressing is required, squash or sweet potatoes and of course cranberry sauce. There are two possible pies that must be made, pumpkin and/or mince. Beyond that, the sky is the limit. Feel free to add anything that is considered “traditional” in your family.

Just for starters, for years, Thanksgiving wasn’t well, itself without green peas. Don’t ask me why, but it wasn’t. Now I would consider it a failure should I not have caramelized pearl onions on the menu. (I said I was eclectic way back at the beginning of this blog so don’t be surprised.) You no doubt have your own “essential” such as green bean casserole, or jello salad.

This is a particularly forgiving (HA,HA) holiday. Dressing can be made in myriad forms. In the South they use cornbread, in the North, white bread. In the gulf region oysters are common. I do a weird one that is sorta Italian, having mozzarella cheese, pine nuts, and Italian sausage in it. It is to die for. People do all sorts of things with sweet potatoes or squash. They are baked as is, roasted in rings, pureed, nutted, marshmallowed, just about anything goes. So you see, you have plenty of room to improvise and to stand out in your family.

Now to the cooking. This is what separates the boys from the girls, the amateurs from the pros as it were. Now if you are the type that hates to cook, and has been unable to secure any invitation anywhere for you and your band of badly tempered and behaved kiddos; if your hubby refuses to get out of his sweats even for company, well then maybe you have to attempt the meal on your own. There are means of “cooking” and I do use that term loosely, without much effort. Read fake meal.

First you start with a turkey breast rather than the whole bird. Follow the freakin’ directions and be prepared for a boring piece of dry meat. And of course, the kids should not expect to fight over the leg since there won’t be one. Now, potatoes. Opt for the boxed fake mashed ones that you pour into boiling water and you get this icky paste called “potatoes.” Or, I hear tell they have “partially” cooked potatoes though I have no idea what they are good for. A can of “turkey gravy” will be necessary, since turkey breast give off nothing you can create a gravy from. Read chalky,clawing, gummy, and barely edible.

Surprise,they also have sweet potatoes in a can, if the thought of baking a damn sweet potato is too much for ya. Cover it up with the usual mini marshmallows and it will visually pass inspection. Of course we all know that rolls come in a can that you bang against the corner of the kitchen counter. And the dough boy is cute.

Cranberry sauce comes in a can, either in jellied form or whole berry. If you are trying to fool guests (good luck with that), then opt for the whole berry. And the pie? Oh that’s easy. Either Mrs. Smith, who undoubtedly had a Mr. Smith with no taste buds, or let Walmart make it for you. You know you feel comfortable with that right? Tell yourself that it tastes the same. Some Readi Whip or Cool Whip to top it off.

You should get that puppy on the table in less than one hour by my figuring. Not bad, but as I said, even taking the food out of its “store” containers won’t do much to convince anyone that you made it. Course some people have a very loose definition of what constitutes “cooking.” If applying random heat to anything is cooking, then, I guess you qualify.

The rest of us laugh at such efforts of course, and look with sadness at children deprived of real Thanksgiving fare. Since the whole high point of the day is food, it really is unforgivable to cheat don’t you think? But then I suppose there are people who find the day only a prelude to getting off to sleep in the shopping center parking lot from 3:00 am onward until you can place your life at risk when they open the doors at 6:00 am.

I certainly hope that these past days have given you some idea of how this holiday is celebrated properly. I hope you enjoy yours if you live in the US or even if you don’t but would like to share the experience from Bangladesh or the Russian Steppes. I don’t know if you can get the ingredients easily or not, but hey, I’ll give credit for effort.

Happy THANKSGIVING!!!!

Marine Sergeant Thanksgiving Drill

Tags

meal preparation, Thanksgiving

Okay, let’s get this thing really clear. Everybody has their own idea of what constitutes a proper Thanksgiving meal. Most of this has to do with what you mother did, or perhaps just the opposite of what she did. You see the point?

Anyway, if yours looks something (and I use the term loosely) like that to the right, well, let me explain. It does not pop out of a box that way. It’s the product of hours of painstaking work, toil, trouble, and aggravation. Which explains why the “doer” is often frazzled by Wednesday evening, grumpy, and otherwise more akin to a drill sergeant than a human being.

Holiday week is a  unique time and those who must move amongst the “doers” should tread carefully. Most of us doers (those who host the event) realize that intense planning and list making are required to pull this off. Pulling it off means that the turkey and mashed potatoes are ready at about the same time. Food can thus be consumed warm if not actually hot. It goes without saying that as you sit down is not the time to contemplate what kind of dessert would be nice.

Plans are created and pretty much set in stone by Sunday. Lists are made, sometimes, multiple ones pertaining to different areas of concern. Shopping, cleaning, actual cooking, are only the beginning. The drill sergeant has the right (under natural law) to conscript anyone within view to assist in said tasks. It is best to make no objection but to acquiesce with some generosity. After all you are going to be expecting a spectacular meal, and should be happy to help, right?

You may be handed dusting rags or a vacuum and pointed in the direction of rooms you have not seen since last year at this time. You may be pushed out the door with list in hand to fight the hordes of other wild-eyed spouses in markets across the land, fighting for that last brussel sprout that just went dancing along aisle three. Do it. Don’t complain. The drill sergeant is deeply engrossed in a check down list of her own and cannot stop to listen to your whimpering that you just missed the early pre-Thanksgiving bowl game between Altoona State and Bald Mountain Tech.

Pets and children fare alike during this time. The general rule: be seen, barely and not heard at all. Most of all, stay the freakin’ heck out of the kitchen. Did I make that clear? “Get out of my kitchen!” Tiptoeing is at a premium during this time, and the adult non-doer spouse should train all short people and other than humans this important lesson. The penalty for disobedience is: “Get outside!!!!!”

All passersby are requested to keep their mitts off the food that is sitting around cooling, or awaiting some final disposition. When the shopping trip is complete, all such foods are packed in the fridge or onto a neutral table. These are OFF LIMITS. In fact any opening if the refrigerator will be met with a resounding “WHAT ARE YOU LOOKING FOR????” This will happen even if the drill sergeant is three rooms away. Uncanny hearing is part of the DS packet of tools.

In fact, it’s best if you operate by the rule: Do not eat anything during holiday week without first asking. Those peppermint candies? They look innocent enough. NO NO. Do not touch. They are going in the final frosting for the cake!  All those lovely pecans? NO NO. Do not touch. They are going atop the squash!

And speaking of shopping. This is so essential, that the DS will seldom allow anyone to do it lest they miss something or get the wrong variety. Case in point.

On Sunday, after church, I wandered over to the ever present Walmart with a “Thanksgiving menu” list. I had carefully written everything down, and was systematically working my way through the 3,729,237 other individuals who also thought that Sunday at noon would be the perfect time to slip in and pick up the bird and the other fixin’s.

I’ve decided to cheat a bit, and not make my bread for the dressing. I’ll buy an appropriately “artisan” type and save myself a few minutes. Okay. So I go to the “artisan” bread section, suitably located near the “baking” area of the store and suitably wrapped in “authentic” looking bags. Why you could close your eyes and swear you were in an open air market in Paris right? Yeah. Sure.

So I see this rather nice loaf, looking officially “homemadish.” I flip the loaf and examine the ingredients. For $1.50, I’m expecting something decent here. The ingredient list is most of two inches in height and about two inches across. There are more than a dozen different things listed, and I struggle to find flour among them. I do find high fructose corn syrup. I wrinkle my nose.

I have wandered upon a “artisan” type loaf, but one that is meant to survive a nuclear explosion and then last until the next ice age. Preservatives by weight outweigh the flour. Since bread is composed at its basics of flour, water, and a bit of yeast and salt, I’m confounded.

I move down the aisle, and spot more bread. The price has now leapt to $3.00. I flip another loaf and find a list of ingredients about six items long. Prominent is flour. I choose that, but I can’t help wondering–why must I pay double for bread that has more than half  less  ingredients? The answer: This is America. And that’s all you need know.

Trust me, we are going to have a wonderful day on Thursday. But suffering is part of joy. You can tell you are happy by realizing that you aren’t suffering. Get it? So stop that whining, follow orders and I promise you, you will be so glad you did come Thursday. That’s an order!

(Tomorrow: More fun as the Day approaches!)

Shaddup and Pass the Gravy

Tags

American folklore, myths, Pilgrims, religious freedom, separation of Church and state, Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving is frankly a uniquely American holiday. Not to say that there are not other harvest celebrations in many parts of the world. There are. And no doubt they have their own unique qualities.

We are not talking better best, but different. Get it?

Thanksgiving to children is part of that delicious march toward the big day when presents are piled under a evergreen tree decorated with tinsel and balls of glass. It is a day to eat lots of things we don’t ordinarily see. Pumpkin pie, cranberry sauce, and that ubiquitous turkey with stuffing and plenty of gravy for the mashed taters.

To adults, it is the beginning of the big rush for Christmas, meaning shopping and cleaning and baking and wrapping and suddenly realizing that you don’t have enough days left to do all you need to do to make this the all time most perfect Christmas ever to be had by anyone in your entire family, and they will all thank you forevermore. Whew! And it never happens, so there is always next year!

The day itself is an amalgamation of American folklore, religion, secular hedonism,  and excitement. There are parades, football, specials galore, movies opening, and the grand opportunity to chat with Aunt Ethel about Uncle Pete’s bunions and carbuncles. Can you hardly wait?

As children, we are victimized by lying school districts who are intent upon making sure that we understand that this holiday arose at Plymouth Rock to celebrate the fine land offered so kindly by friendly Indians. At the end of that first season, the pilgrims (who are famous for coming to Merika for religious freedom) and the American Indians who for reasons unknown were happy to see the palefaces take over and strip their living and hunting lands, sit down at a outdoor feast in the pleasant late fall. Thanks Paleface! I was always wantin’ to move West ya know, to visit the kids and grand kids.

The truth of the matter is that folks in St. Augustine Florida actually claim the first Thanksgiving on September 8, 1565. But then the Dutch in Leiden claim that the Pilgrims left their shores for the “New World” taking with them the holiday of Thanksgiving as well as civil marriage (shocked?).

In any case, we as rather tabla rasa humans, soak up all this nonsense, and get all warm and fuzzy as we draw turkeys, and make pilgrim hats to celebrate. My, so nice that we have religious freedom because of Pilgrims. Technically correct since it was the Pilgrim propensity for demanding adherence to “our” religious practices or get out of Dodge, that caused our “founding fathers” to adopt ever more stringent rules separating the two institutions of state and said religions.

Although Thanksgiving is certainly a very secular holiday for most, it still carries (even sans the Pilgrim angle) a fairly religious message. Give thanks. And when we give thanks its usually to someone or something. And for most of us, we sit at the table one of about three times a year and turn our thoughts to God in however we define him, and “give thanks.” Then we attack the food.

Our usual course is to gather in family units, the bigger the better. Grandma and aunties, and plenty of cousins. So in that sense its a giving of thanks for families and our shared heritage. It is in some sense the best of table hospitality, the sharing of food. Many are off to their once a year stint at the local soup kitchen for serving food to the “less fortunate.” This is designed to “teach” lessons to our children, and to pat ourselves a bit on the back for our “givingness.”

I don’t ascribe to the nonsense of Plymouth Plantation and its harvest of “plenty” sharing with the natives. While it seems clear that the Indians did help the woe begotten settlers to survive that first year, I’m sure that there were tensions about this interloper and what it’s intentions might be in the longer run.

But, I do subscribe to the day as being one of general thanksgiving. It is a time to remember and think about how awfully lucky most of us are, most of the time.

Through personal crises of various types, we manage to keep on keepin’ on. The mortgage gets paid, the lights are on, there is food in the fridge. We are even willing to suffer a bit in the winter and early spring as we indulge just a bit during the build up to winter and it’s snow and cold.

We think about our blessings, large and small. We ponder the lives of so many others, so much less fortunate. We ponder the hard lives of most of our predecessors in time. We smile softly and think that we can remember this day as one of the good ones.

I frankly don’t know if American Indians celebrate this day or not. I’d be inclined to think not, but again, independent of pilgrims, they too have as much reason to recall blessings as anyone else. Unlike the celebration of Columbus’s day, they are not called to herald the very one who brought them disease, loss of home, and the death of the better parts of their nations.

So our harvest festival is unique, but as I said, it’s not better than that of any other country. We just make a big to do about it. It gets our juices running as we start that sprint toward Kris Kringle and the whole split personality of baby Jesus and Santa crammed together on the same side board in the dining room. It’s just that we don’t get confused at the combination of religion and secular joy as we do at Christmas time.

So get out the turkey platter, and find the gravy boat. The kitchen holds center stage, and kids are shooed out about 1200 times a day. Bring on the stuffing and save that wishbone for making a wish on Friday when it has nicely dried and will snap! And don’t forget, don’t eat much on Wednesday. You will be needing the room!