Harvest Feast and other autumn joys

My niece is upstairs communicating with her mother via Skype/phone/headphone/microphone 21st Century convenience technology. My parents, after my father made off with my brand new copy of Planetary (which I'm still reading, by the way), went to the grocery store because for some reason, we are out of sage.

I would use this time wisely and watch Castle online or read Lamb (again) or write letters or fiction or something interesting about the coming together of mountain goats on hillsides and wandering layered dreams of storytelling and houseguesting and friendship, if I were less distracted by the smell of cupcakes cooling on the stove.

This is one of those holidays that seems to bring out the most in people. Not the best, not the worst, just the most. I notice it more at Thanksgiving because I am not a huge fan of what goes on around Christmas and so avoid it as much as possible. Also, Thanksgiving is more important in our family, so I pay closer attention. To what? To the excess.

I see an excess of food, of nostalgia, of disillusionment and my absolute least favorite thing of the holiday: cleverly bitter snipes about history and myth-making that are intended to somehow relieve the sniper from any responsibility to act on the anger that fuels the bitterness in the first place. It is one of those weird privileged person things: happy smallpox day, happy steal the land day, happy oppress people day. Cracks like that do nothing to change the situation, which is very likely the whole point. I take issue with them because they do not remove culpability, they merely assuage guilt in order to make room for temporary gratitude.

But it's not temporary - most of the people that I hear making snide remarks are people that I've also heard be verbally grateful to people in their lives on days that have nothing to do with the fucking Mayflower. Is it too much to think that perhaps the guilt is the problem, that and an educational system that does not acknowledge how destructive the anger that comes from disillusionment really is? I am forever confused at the strength of demonstrably false myths of history.

Today, as every day, I live loving and beloved and for that I am grateful. The people that I love make good decisions and stay safe, and I am grateful. We have food to eat and good company to keep, and I am grateful.

And maybe, just maybe, it will be the same in March when the winter is too much, the house is too small, the world is too big and all of these contradictory celebrations and long-held traditions are nothing more than fodder for a bitter heart. Perhaps something like the warmth of today's sunshine the sound of my nieces' laughter and the smell of baking chocolate will live in a layer of memory that reminds me of the power of loving people with integrity, and slow cooked food.

This will be the story of this year, of this holiday, when we were all to be in one place, and could not because of blizzards and other circumstances. When my niece had to nap because the world invaded her head and pounded for no reason. When my parents when to the store for sage and I smiled on their return.

Happy Thanksgiving, you guys...