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We’ve largely forgotten the roots of Thanksgiving. It wasn’t simply saying thanks. It was saying thanks for being alive, for the autumn harvest of meals, which isn’t assured. Doubters, look beneath I for Irish or F for famine.
Meat didn’t at all times come plastic-wrapped or in sterile containers. It needed to be raised, slaughtered, in ways in which took on ritual. After all you stated grace at meals: Meals was sacred, to be eaten respectfully collectively, with the humility of the undeserving.
Might we pause to think about this over the weekend. Might we be aware as we put together no matter passes for feast.
This can be made harder as Friday introduced extra unhealthy information within the pandemic. It feels as if we’re again to the slog, does it not?
At a time when the times are getting shorter and November will deliver the same old bag of distress, one has to fret about those that are alone, at wit’s finish, at poverty’s door, those that could have forgotten learn how to hope.
It’s a glib statement, however, no matter anybody’s way of thinking at the moment, we’re at some point nearer to having this complete factor finish. We’ll win.
“How we spend our days is, in fact, how we spend our lives,” wrote the American essayist Annie Dillard, who has a spellbinding method of observing the world.
“What we do with this hour, and that one, is what we’re doing.”
So, for an hour or extra this weekend, could there be gratitude expressed, which is to think about others fondly and with some deliberation, be it mom, father, sister, son.
And even turkey and potato or the comical rampaging of an invading squirrel. Glad Thanksgiving.
To contact Kelly Egan, please name 613-291-6265 or e-mail firstname.lastname@example.org