Culture, Family, Friendship

Giving Thanks: I Will Not Be Moved

Well, here we go. A post in which I fully expect to be excoriated as a “Pollyanna.” As a person who refuses to acknowledge the Truth. A disbeliever in the “science” of what we (Conservatives) face at this particular crossroads. A deluded fool. And some sort of wrong-headed political animal who has no right to speak because, actually, I can’t even vote, so who cares what I think, anyway. Been there. Done that. And, frankly, it barely registers anymore.

So, being too oblivious, too pig-headed, and too determined (thanks, genetic inheritance) to do otherwise, I persist.

Here’s the thing.

Regardless (or irregardless, as the case may be) of the attempts of the mainstream media and most of the chattering classes (but I repeat myself) to persuade you otherwise:

Thanksgiving (and Christmas) are going to happen this year, no matter what.  No-one has “cancelled” them.  No human agency can.

Yeah.

My original plan for Thanksgiving was to celebrate and enjoy the holiday by bringing together on the farm exactly three people, from two different households (me, beloved stepdaughter, and darling 12-year-old granddaughter)–all that remains of my close United States family, after the depredations of accident, mental illness, murderous criminality, and demented old age upon it over the past several years.

But.

Fate intervened in the form of COVID, which struck my stepdaughter a  bit more than a week or so ago, and which may have affected my granddaughter also (the doctor suggested that my stepdaughter, who’s in quarantine, not break that to expose others by taking my granddaughter to be tested unless she became so ill that she needed to go to the emergency room). So far, thankfully, that hasn’t happened, although the situation poses a bit of a dilemma vis-a-vis where we’ll be on November 26.

So at the moment, I’m not sure what will happen logistically, a couple of days from now.

Absent the logistics and the selfish sorrow at (perhaps) not being able to spend a few days with what’s left of my family in a very sad and stupid year, I’m very clear about this:

On November 26, 2020, I will celebrate and be thankful for this country, its founding (yea, even though that causes a bit of cognitive dissonance in my extant BritBrain), and its contribution to world progress, civilis(z)ation, safety and order over the last 250 years.

That thankfulness and gratitude will not be infringed by some daft and possibly unconstitutional ukase proclaimed by some idiotic blue-state governor, such as Wolf, Cuomo, Whitmer, Walz, or Newsom. Or even by some ersatz impersonator such as DeWine (next door in Ohio).

And, in a month or so, the same will be true of Christmas. No matter the absurd restrictions imposed by the secular state, no matter the opprobrium heaped on those of us wishing to celebrate it, the commemoration of the birth of the Christ Child, will happen.

I’ll be putting up the decorations shortly, lighting the Advent candles, and following along the prescribed path to the celebration and joy. And, on the day itself, even if I’m all by myself, I’ll be giving thanks, singing songs of praise, and raising a glass to the absent friends and loved ones whose affection and sacrifice have brought me this far.

Anyone who’s reads this who’s in that category–and I’m sure there will be some–you have only added to my cornucopia of friendship and affection over the past ten years. Thank you.

He is a wise man who does not grieve for the things which he has not, but who rejoices for those which he has.--Epictetus

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