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The trouble with Thanksgiving is that you never know exactly what to be thankful for.
For instance, I'm very grateful to the powers of the universe for arranging the most clement autumn in memory. Not only does it mean a lower fuel bill (the back-ordered part finally arrived for our furnace, only one day after an exciting chimney fire) but the warm, sunny days have enabled me to clean the shed, prepare the car for winter and seal the storm windows.
Those and other annual chores generally get put off
because by the time I get around to them, it's too cold and
snowy. (Why don't you fix the leak in the roof?
Because I can't fix it when it's raining, and when it's
not raining, the roof doesn't need fixed.
)
But one must be fair about this. Colorado Ski Country USA does not feel even the smallest twinge of gratitude about this glorious weather. Skiing is an important industry in this state. Thousands of people could be out of work if the weather does not deteriorate. Isn't it rather callous to be grateful for warmth and sunshine?
As for Thanksgiving dinner, Martha is grateful because she likes turkey. I am grateful that such a dinner comes only once a year, because I am sure that the man who discovered that turkey was edible must have been awful hungry. Ditto for stuffing, cranberry sauce, sweet potatoes and pumpkin pie -- once a year is more than enough.
In Colorado, we can be thankful for the prospect of
redemption through victory.
Last spring and summer
there were many stories about the thuggish nature of the
Buffaloes -- wild parties, assaults, the duct-tape
rapist.
You got the idea that the only Top Ten they'd make would be the FBI's Ten Most-Wanted List. I'd scan the post-office walls every morning for recent developments. (Even so, you could feel grateful that you lived in a state which was so serene and wealthy that it could afford to import violent criminals.)
Now the team is going to the Orange Bowl with a perfect record, and all those gallant scholar-athletes have turned into saints, judging by what I read and hear.
And perhaps somebody can feel real grateful for the war on drugs; a skirmish occurred Saturday night just down the street from me.
My neighbor is a self-employed cabinetmaker and an authority on wood finishes and antique restoration. He has two sons in school. He's a youth soccer coach. He has an excellent singing voice, which sometimes appears in local theater productions. If he was passing by when your car was stuck in a snowdrift or needed a jump, he always stopped and helped.
In short, he's self-supporting and an asset to the community; he's the kind of friend and neighbor most people would be grateful for.
But while he was home with his children Saturday night, the police showed up at his door with a warrant and arrested him. He's now in the county jail, charged with growing marijuana in the attic of his small house -- an act which would be perfectly legal in Alaska and was legal elsewhere in this great free nation until 1937.
Perhaps I should be thankful to the authorities for protecting us from the scourge of drugs. America is indeed a mighty country when it seriously plans to eliminate a plant which grows wild throughout the world. And look at the example he might provide, of yet another family and career destroyed by drugs.
Except that he was a productive citizen before some snitch decided that we to be needed protected from him. And now his career and family might be destroyed -- not by drugs, but by the drug laws.
The cure is worse than the alleged disease, and that's the whole problem with this war on drugs. Given the season, I'm trying real hard to feel thankful about this. But I'm not smart enough to figure out how.
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