On this Thanksgiving Eve, I find myself -- like so many of you -- taking stock of my world and giving thanks for all those little things we so often take for granted.
First of all, I'm thankful that this cold seems to be abating a little. I hate having a cold, and it seems I always get one right when something I really want to do is looming on the horizon. I should be at my Mom's house right now, eating fried pork chops and peas and sweet potatoes and lemon ice box pie but no, I'm at home nursing a cold. But I'm hopeful it will go away in time for me to make it to a football game this weekend, so I'm thankful for that.
I'm also thankful for all the many friends that have come my way over this incredibly short (ha!) life I've led. Indeed, blessed is too mild a word for it. Overwhelmingly awed by the awesomeness of it all would be more accurate. And family; I have a host of loving family too. Even though we may snip and snarl at each other from time to time, in the end the data bank of shared memories and experiences is still there and cannot be replicated.
But tonight I also find myself thankfor for a sock. Well, a number of socks really, but tonight a lone sock, pulled from the dryer with lots of little friends but no mate. Sad little sock, really, leaving me with one eternal question: where the hell is the other sock?
I posed this question once before, while an undergraduate. One would think that in the almost 30 years since that time I would have found an answer. Apparently not. To this day, lonely little socks will appear from nowhere, mocking me as I try to figure out if they just "appeared" like a Poltergiest in the dryer or whether their mates somehow ran away during the drying cycle.
Tell me: does one count one's socks before washing them? Because I always fail to do that, taking for granted that since I have two feet, and I usually wear socks on both feet, that the number of socks in any given load will be an even number, i.e. divisible by two. It usually works. But not always.
Maybe there's some higher level of math that I need to take to be able to figure this out. Or perhaps a physics class to help me determine the mass and speed of the dryer drum to determine if a small time-space continuum is opening up inside there and the socks are leading a completely different life on someone else's feet in another universe. Maybe a philosophy class would help me understand if the socks actually exist or if they are just part of an exesstential universe wrapped in a conundrum.
Than again, maybe I should just do as I usually do, and hold on to that lone sock until it's mate shows up. Because it usually does. Somehow. Someway. Have no idea how that happens, whether I'm just losing another sock so it looks like one is returning or whether they really do come back to me.
Either way, I'm thankful to have this lonely little sock, and all the other socks in the drawer. They're clean, they keep my feet warm, and they are small part of what makes me happy.
This Thanksgiving Day, I hope that in addition to giving thanks for family and friends and health and all that big stuff, you also find time to give thanks for the small things in life that make you happy each and every day. Like a smile on a random baby's face you see in a store while you're shopping. Or the sunshine. Maybe a comfy blanket that you snuggle under on the couch while you watch your favorite holiday shows.
Thanks, God, for my socks, even the lost ones.
Happy Thanksgiving my friends :-)
First of all, I'm thankful that this cold seems to be abating a little. I hate having a cold, and it seems I always get one right when something I really want to do is looming on the horizon. I should be at my Mom's house right now, eating fried pork chops and peas and sweet potatoes and lemon ice box pie but no, I'm at home nursing a cold. But I'm hopeful it will go away in time for me to make it to a football game this weekend, so I'm thankful for that.
I'm also thankful for all the many friends that have come my way over this incredibly short (ha!) life I've led. Indeed, blessed is too mild a word for it. Overwhelmingly awed by the awesomeness of it all would be more accurate. And family; I have a host of loving family too. Even though we may snip and snarl at each other from time to time, in the end the data bank of shared memories and experiences is still there and cannot be replicated.
But tonight I also find myself thankfor for a sock. Well, a number of socks really, but tonight a lone sock, pulled from the dryer with lots of little friends but no mate. Sad little sock, really, leaving me with one eternal question: where the hell is the other sock?
I posed this question once before, while an undergraduate. One would think that in the almost 30 years since that time I would have found an answer. Apparently not. To this day, lonely little socks will appear from nowhere, mocking me as I try to figure out if they just "appeared" like a Poltergiest in the dryer or whether their mates somehow ran away during the drying cycle.
Tell me: does one count one's socks before washing them? Because I always fail to do that, taking for granted that since I have two feet, and I usually wear socks on both feet, that the number of socks in any given load will be an even number, i.e. divisible by two. It usually works. But not always.
Maybe there's some higher level of math that I need to take to be able to figure this out. Or perhaps a physics class to help me determine the mass and speed of the dryer drum to determine if a small time-space continuum is opening up inside there and the socks are leading a completely different life on someone else's feet in another universe. Maybe a philosophy class would help me understand if the socks actually exist or if they are just part of an exesstential universe wrapped in a conundrum.
Than again, maybe I should just do as I usually do, and hold on to that lone sock until it's mate shows up. Because it usually does. Somehow. Someway. Have no idea how that happens, whether I'm just losing another sock so it looks like one is returning or whether they really do come back to me.
Either way, I'm thankful to have this lonely little sock, and all the other socks in the drawer. They're clean, they keep my feet warm, and they are small part of what makes me happy.
This Thanksgiving Day, I hope that in addition to giving thanks for family and friends and health and all that big stuff, you also find time to give thanks for the small things in life that make you happy each and every day. Like a smile on a random baby's face you see in a store while you're shopping. Or the sunshine. Maybe a comfy blanket that you snuggle under on the couch while you watch your favorite holiday shows.
Thanks, God, for my socks, even the lost ones.
Happy Thanksgiving my friends :-)
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