No, this isn't going to be a post filled with thankfulness mush. Not that I have a problem with that - I live a great life and it's only right that I should be thankful for all the blessings that crowd every day of it - but it's not what's on my mind right now.
The last couple of days, as I've been wallowing in the pre-Christmas frenzy that has me well into the cards, the presents, and the wrapping already, I've been wondering why I don't get more excited about Thanksgiving. It's a non-religious holiday; it's a holiday with a basis in American history (albeit a very gray basis that brings up a lot of questions that are difficult to explain to small children ... last night's discussion of why the Indian "war whoop" can be offensive went well over Charles's head); it's all about good food; and I love Plimoth. So why isn't it more exciting? Why do I skip right over the turkey feathers and head straight for the snowmen and candy canes?
The reason, I think, is that it's just a long weekend that starts with a big meal around here. We don't travel anywhere, don't have family in to visit, and just have a nice quiet weekend. Of course, I LIKE that we don't travel anywhere, and not having a family (my particular family) to deal with is actually one of the things I'm thankful for, and I don't knock nice quiet weekends. But it's not that different, to me, from Memorial Day, Labor Day, or Columbus Day - all weekends that I like, but none of which really feel like a big special celebration.
Granted, my lack of excitement about Thanksgiving doesn't bother me as much as it seems to bother other people, so I don't much mind being conflicted about the quiet holiday. Because I know if I had the big boisterous family-filled Norman Rockwell-style holiday, I'd be conflicted about that, too, with half of me wishing we could just stay home and eat turkey and have a nice quiet weekend.
At least I'm consistent about some things!
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