Thanksgiving 2019 After-Action Report

It was even better than last year.

I let myself get caught in that stupid War on Thanksgiving meme, which is exactly that, a meme. In a Facebook post I railed against whatever silly people are out there (and they are out there, but fewer in number than we’re led to believe) who would condemn this most American of holidays as a celebration of American Indian genocide. 

Turkeys are the only living things getting mass-slaughtered here, and we keep breeding them so we can kill them some more. In other news, a Thanksgiving miracle occurred: this little 10-pounder pictured here fed the entire family, and we still had a little leftover. I’m thankful for how we’ve learned to scale things down. Not everything has to — or should be — three to ten times as much as it needs to be.

I didn’t delete the post at first. Upon trimming some of the angrier, clichéd get-off-my-lawn-isms out, I thought the message became a lot more effective. I wanted to make my stand. You get so sick of all this sanctimonious bullyragging and...well, that was the whole point, wasn’t it? 

Properly chastened for my weakness, I undid that which shouldn’t have been done in the first place. When it comes to these provocations, a stoic response—that is to say, no response—is best. We are always offered invitations to anger in our mass media and make no mistake, the Internet is a big part of our mass media today. Decline those invitations.

And while we’re here, do you honestly know anyone who goes out of their way to bring up politics or other discordant subjects at the holiday feasting table? Again, I’m not saying there aren’t some idiots out there, but it’s rarer and far less severe than its been promoted to be. It’s a lot like that movie that came out in October that the media insisted was going to tap into some mythical white male resentment-rage. Shootings were likely to occur at screenings. It got to the point that memes were made in which “journalists” (this should always be in scare quotes) were begging for someone to bring a gun to the theater. They were actually trying to meme a shooting into existence. 

The entire point of the mass media in A.D. 2019 America is to keep you on edge, miserable and trembling for the next piece of shocking news. ‘Twas always thus, to one degree or another. It’s always been more or less fake, and if you don’t consider them the enemy, well, they sure as hell ain’t your friend, either. 

My Google game is off. I can find multiple copies of this comic, including animated .GIFs, but no mention of the creator. The author deserves commendation, as this accurately depicted the media zeitgeist of the last two weeks of September 2019. Good thing most people don’t pay much attention to the media anymore. Which makes me wonder why I bother...okay, so I am entertained by all the verbal slap fights. There’s that.

My succumbing to this frippery was mortifying and, thank God, the worst thing about the whole weekend. Once again, this Thanksgiving lasted all weekend, thanks to family.

This is what it looked like Thanksgiving evening after some of the snow had a chance to melt off. It’s all very nice and aesthetic when you’re on the inside of a warm house looking out. It’s another thing entirely if home and heart are empty, and it’s even colder and grayer in your soul. Been there, done that multiple years in a row in my 20s. I’ve had appendicitis; I’ve had multiple rogue wisdom teeth giving me trouble. The memory of such pain is abstract. The agony of loneliness over the holidays, though, still runs a shudder through me 30 years later.

I don’t have many people in my life but the ones who are there count. For the first time in a couple of years my daughter was able to take Thanksgiving Day off and drive down the night before, as opposed to the night of, the big day. We enjoyed riding around in the state-of-the-art hybrid vehicle she drove down in. That the car managed to make it through a mountain pass without trouble impressed me, as well as driving the 200 miles on only a quarter-tank of gasoline.

As usual, my daughter spent most of the time talking with her mother until her mother went to bed, and then she knocked on the door of my office. We had to forego the usual YouTube indulgences as my computer was shut down after overheating once again from the latest Windows 10 update. I don’t remember much of what we were talking about—alcohol was involved—but we wound the evening up in good spirits.

The sideboard, featuring the gingerbread house my son and his girlfriend made the week before.

It was just us at the table the next day and we were all we needed. 

The Big Three sides, the sine qua non of the Thanksgiving bird: homemade cranberry sauce, sweet potato casserole with marshmallows (the first to go altogether) and dressing.

Thanksgiving Friday was Thanksgiving Friday and nothing more. My wife and daughter did go indulge themselves at one of the two big thrift stores that had a sale, but that was the extent of it—and likely to have happened regardless of the date, because my wife and daughter enjoy such things. I stayed home, looked out the windows at the cold, snowy landscape, and thought of Thanksgivings past.

After a little more time visiting together my daughter left for Colorado Springs in mid-afternoon. The next morning my son left to see his girlfriend in Denver. My wife and I were empty-nesters again. Our hearts, however, were full. We’re grateful we have the kind of children we’re sorry to see leave, as opposed to wondering if they ever will leave. Not everyone gets that.

A potato shot of the tree that I’ll call art. Hello, Art.

When you see the Jingle Bell Rock Moose and the Christmas Bear, you know it’s on.

As with last year, the Thanksgiving vibe carried on throughout the entire weekend, even with the snow that fell three nights in a row starting on Wednesday, and even with the Christmas decorations my wife had put up days before because it was late in the month and the wintry gloom was getting to her. No one got angry with one another. No one had anything to say about politicians, current events, or the latest fad crusade. We had other concerns, namely, each other, and what we’re all up to.

In keeping with tradition, I celebrated my family, and took time out in private to mourn my dead. I can’t believe my brother Steven has been gone two years ago already this November. I spoke his name and those of sorely missed others aloud in remembrance.

When my son came home from Denver on Sunday night he ate the last of the mashed potatoes, which were all that remained of the leftovers. Thanksgiving 2019 was put to bed. Here’s a prayer we’re all back here for Christmas, and back again for many Thanksgivings and Christmases to come.

Watch it be sunny and snow-free this Christmas. Which suits me, given that my adult children are driving to see us. I don’t need a White Christmas that badly if it’s putting people I love at risk