Binderama60for60

It wasn’t always this way.

I didn’t start out being thankful. As a kid, and a fortunate one at that, I took a lot for granted: This is just the way life is. It took me decades to appreciate how much I’ve had to be thankful for, and too often it’s been in hindsight.

Now, I’m trying to be thankful in the moment. That’s a key learning for me from the 60|60 project so far. Be happy now or even preemptively, for all I have in my life.

It’s a Thursday

When I was a kid, Thanksgiving meant a long weekend. Gran came to visit every other year or so. I’d wake up and hear her and Maw in the kitchen, prepping the stuffing and the bird. The parade was on TV.

Leaves might get raked, backyard soccer played, the Brothers might fake-wrestle on the living room floor; Timbo would make Mike and me suffer a little, and laugh. We’d put up the large dining table in the dining room which served as the TV room every other day of the year. Classy linens came out. The good china and flatware. Glasses for water. Goblets for sparkling cider. Candles. The whole shebang.

Maw would sneak some black olives out of the can, just for me and her. Not everything came out of a can, but there were a few cans: those crunchy French onions, natch. The roasting stuffed turkey would fill the house with a warm, savory aroma all morning and into the afternoon. It would fog up the windows some years. Maw would get to work on the giblet gravy while Dad carved, saving the drumsticks for himself and Timbo. We’d say grace, one of two times every year that we did so. It was mostly about Family at the table, and a few others in our thoughts.

Dinner commenced. Plates were passed: Brussel sprouts, green beans, corn, dressing, cranberry “sauce,” crudite, salad, and so on. (My Brother Mike just reminded me of the celery stuffed with Kraft pimento cheese. Yeah.)

Gran and I liked the white meat; everyone else had to battle for the dark. My plate overflowed with mostly turkey and mashed potatoes drowning in gravy. A dinner roll. And some black olives. (This arrangement has not changed much). End with pumpkin pie under a generous dollop of Cool Whip, right out of the tub.

Clearing. Cleaning. Dishes, Naps. Relocate the dining table to make room for football viewing. We’d always be thankful to see Detroit win their game and the Cowboys lose theirs. Chances are, leftovers were mined in the early evening and noshed into the night and probably for days.

That’s what Thanksgiving meant to me.

Until I didn’t have that anymore.

Once I was on my own, living a thousand miles away, I didn’t often make it home for that Thursday. I usually worked on the holidays during my 20s. Anyway, I figured I needed the alone time to be thankful within. I think I was right.

That’s when the first seeds of a deeper meaning of thankfulness and Thanksgiving took root. Being out in the world, being among strangers and in strange places and situations showed me just how fortunate I was and had been.

Even at times when I was struggling personally, financially or in other ways, I came to recognize all that I had to be thankful for: decent health, friendships, the warmth and security of place, opportunity and periods of good fortune. And I had Family.

I’ll be blunt: I don’t often pray or worship, but I’ve become a person who gives thanks on the daily, for the big things and the small. As important, I give thanks for the things I DON’T have to be thankful for, like overcoming disease, tragedies and other close calls. But even in loss, I’ve learned to be thankful for the experience and the memories, however sad.

I admire folks who are thankful for having kids and growing families. Sometimes I think I’d like to be thankful for having children and grandchildren. That’s not going to happen. It’s something for which I am occasionally give thanks, and then I move on. That reads as ambiguous. I’ve been blessed and I know it.

Thanks. Giving.

About the title of this post: I’m sitting here at the desk writing this post (last week), and I’m thinking: Good for me, Happy Thanksgiving! But what am I doing to help others have more to be thankful for? Today and every day, now.

To be sure, I’m not a Scrooge, but there is room for growth. Perhaps this 60|60 experience will change me from a seasoned narcissist into an mid-level altruist. I’m definitely open to that.

Thanksgiving: The Day

Thanksgiving is on my calendar every year. When I met Mary’s Family, they got together every year, sometimes a couple dozen of them, usually in the southwest or California. But time moves on, the Family has splintered, as families sometimes do. Grateful though that even a small group will be together today in Palm Springs at Bob Hope’s old house (it’s pretty epic). And with two dogs, for which we are also thankful.

A favorite recollection

As my own Family splintered in the 90s, starting families and lives of their own, I won out. Mom and Dad would travel to be where I was on the holiday. It started in Orlando, then continued on to New York, Las Vegas, Santa Monica and the Bay Area. They liked to travel, and we made some great good memories.

Dad had always talked up New York, sharing stories of his business trips from back in the day. And he loved a good sandwich. The Reuben was a favorite.

One year, on Wednesday, the eve of the big day, I took the Folks to a matinee of “Masterclass” on Broadway. Patti Lupone as Maria Callas. Spectacular. It was cold and nasty when we exited the theater. Miraculously we scored a cab in short order. I sent the Folks uptown so they could dry off and get warm in my apartment. And then I trudged a dozen blocks north to the Carnegie Deli, uphill and against the wind and rain.

The place was jammed with last-minute shoppers, most of them buying tongue. When I became “next!” I ordered a Reuben and a corned beef sandwich straight up. Some sides and pickles. The Reuben overflowed a pie tin, the corned beef was a 10-inches tall. I raced east, always against the wind, over to Lexington Avenue and the 4-5-6 subway. The bags were heavy and smelled so good on the subway, cutting through the dank smells of the fetid wetness. I could feel the eyes upon me.

Then down 86th Street and up the stairs to apartment 4W. After a little reheating, I presented Dad with his Reuben. Mom and I shared the corned beef. There was wine and cocktails.

It felt good.

That night, we were safe and warm in my New York City apartment. We were healthy. We enjoyed good food and good fortune. We were together. We were Family. Thankful in the moment. Ever since, thinking back, I get a tingly, all-over wave of gratitude.

The next day was Thursday. Thanksgiving. We watched the parade (on TV) and some football, took a walk down the street to Carl Shurz Park along the East River, among the fallen leaves. I made a turkey and opened a lot of cans and boxes. Mom made gravy. Dad carved. There were black olives. And leftovers for days.

Happy Thanksgiving

Thanks for the warmth, friendship, Family and everything else. And to God for the good health and prosperity. I wish the same for you and yours. Today and every day.

Bonus content!

20-some years ago I was working in Las Vegas over the Christmas holiday. A show-boy, back when I had the sparkle, a nice butt and good knees. Thankful.

I kid.

Thank you to the McClains, John and Dawn, for inviting me to their home for dinner with the other Misfit Toys. They served a dressing that was so good. Our Family has made it for Thanksgiving ever year since. The recipe’s been shared far and wide, more each time we welcome someone new to our table.

Enjoy. You are welcome!