The magical surrealism of gratitude

I wish that everyday was treated as Thanksgiving. It surely would be nice to eat tons of food without a care and actually be giddy about it. It truly would be awesome, if after such gluttony, one didn’t have to show up to work the next day.  It would be all sorts of fabulousness if after such engorgement binge watching and shopping was always the norm as well.  Yes, Thanksgiving is great for the total abandonment of norms. Sure, it is supposedly about giving thanks, but sadly that part is often forgotten these days (or so it seems). I jest, in part.

I like Thanksgiving. I look forward to it each year, especially now that I am a mom. At home none of us cares for turkey. We either make duck or ham. I’m not a big fan of stuffing. But I am a fan of eating merrily and going through a list of the good things that have occurred throughout the year. In this crazier-than-crazy year, we can surely use a moment or two in which we reflect on the positive. And in that vein, I cannot wait to hear what my son has to share. he, he keeps me grounded in both a pool of realism and a sense of magical surrealism. That is what kids do to your mind. Just last night I told my boy he was my blanket and he happily wrapped his arms around me.  I then told him how Michael Jackson had named one of his kids blanket, and he giggled accusing me of making stuff up. And, I am thankful for his incredulousness at life’s absurdities.  Why can’t we remain so incredulous with a side of happy?

For each new morning with its light, For rest and shelter of the night, For health and food, for love and friends, For everything Thy goodness sends.”-Ralph Waldo Emerson

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