Ammo Grrrll serves up a timely MEDITATION ON GRATITUDE, 2019. She writes:
Yesterday, presumably, most of us ate beyond our fill of the traditional Thanksgiving fare. It is my favorite meal of the year. I particularly love stuffing – Heaven on earth! Whoever started the tradition of eating what is basically wet bread has a place in my heart forever. I tart my stuffing up with Cornbread, Hot Turkey Sausage, dried cranberries, chopped apples and pecans. And pile it on the dark meat turkey and bury it in gravy! (Sorry…I need a moment…)
One Thanksgiving, we hosted some nearly starved Jewish immigrants from the Ukraine. Sadly, they had not had the chance to apply for that $80,000 a month job that L’il Hunter snagged by the darnedest luck and his legendary expertise. When asked in the interview what he brought to the table in the way of credentials, he dusted off his nose, winked, and said, “Just BIDEN my time ‘til I can turn into my favorite cowboy, The Loan A-Ranger, if you get my drift.” They got it. They are corrupt, not stupid! His Daddy was so proud he bragged about his super-macho Godfather role in it.
Anyway, we taught our immigrant guests that the American way was to exclaim after the meal “I’m stuffed!” Not, “the gravy was so piquant,” or “the turkey was so moist,” but simply, “I’m stuffed!” Quantity rules the day; quality is merely a nice bonus. Shortly afterwards, the young husband ran into me at the market and said in his excellent but humorous English, “Oh, Shoshanna (my Hebrew name), you were most correct! My co-workers ask how was first Thanksgiving meal in America, and I say what you teach me – I was stuffed! – and they remark, ‘How you know these words?’
When it comes to blessings, we Americans are all “stuffed.” Anyone who says otherwise is a liar by the clock. Let me list just a few things that I am grateful for, in no particular order.
It all starts with family and I am profoundly grateful for mine. Depression survivors, my parents taught me how to do with less, how to do without, how to be really satisfied with what I had. There was never the slightest doubt that my parents loved me. I do know people whose parents were less demonstrative and, sadly, even some whose parents were abusive. These people had a harder row to hoe, but they developed strengths and coping strategies I do not possess. And virtually every one of them I know became terrific parents themselves.
In our late, late middle age years, it is difficult to make new friends. Old friends pass on at an alarming rate and established friendship groups can be hard to break into, as anyone who moves to a new town can attest. I am grateful for new friends I have made through this column. You know who you are. From Oregon to Florida, from Alabama to Massachusetts, from Washington to Montana, if I play my cards right, I should never have to stay in a hotel on the road again. Haha. I kid. I LOVE hotels. Marriott designates me “Titanium Elite,” but I have invented my own special category I call Plutocrat Plutonium.
No words are adequate to describe how grateful I am to be an American with the boundless opportunity and freedom we all enjoy. The chic leftist hatred of America – with hatred of men and white people thrown in, because you just can’t have too much hate! — is appalling. The Klown Kar of Kookoo Klepto Kandidates is making all manner of insane promises to bribe voters. Here’s the only one I believe: they promise to take our guns, our private healthcare, and our money, and that they will do if they are able to cheat enough to win. The Democrats are always yapping on about “fighting for” the poor, never mind that virtually all their nostrums have made things infinitely worse. They are scared Schiff-less that if DJT gets four more years, there may BE no more poor! Who will need them then?
Odd as it may sound, I am grateful that my young husband and I had to struggle for many years. It is actually a blessing to be poor for a time – though it does get tedious if it goes on too long. It helps develop sympathy for people who have hit a rough patch economically, but it also makes you less impressed by the Permanent Professional Underclass, some of whom mightily resist any and all proven ways to improve their situation – work, save, don’t do drugs, don’t commit crime, get married, get some education. And work some more.
I am grateful for that husband mentioned above who, among many remarkable talents, understands our elaborate entertainment system of multiple remotes. I thank God for robust good health. And for the beauty of Nature. And the Second Amendment.
Lastly, I am grateful for cool gadgetry, especially my Keurig coffeemaker. One favorite morning ritual consists of whirling the little K-cup carousel and trying to decide which of several cute cups I will choose. Before Keurig, I had to perk a pot of pointless decaf for Mr. AG, put it in a thermos and then make my own. Now, I have one carousel for actual coffee and one for decaf, which frees up several extra minutes for me to sit and stare into space.
Though I am usually the last to adopt a new product or technology, I am a big fan of entrepreneurship and innovation, possible in the most encouraging and free economic environment in the world, not counting California. How well I remember the day that Mr. AG came home and announced that he had read about this great new musical innovation called “CDs.” He declared that we were going to replace all our vinyl and tape! Seriously? The first large, clunky CD player we bought cost $600 and, at that moment in time, there were FIVE non-Classical CDs out. Within 6 months, you couldn’t buy vinyl.
In the blink of an eye, I could buy my parents a boom box for $19.95, and find them World War 2 era songs on CDs in a big bin at Walmart for $5.00 each or less. Now, I am clearly the last person in America to still have a boom box and a vast collection of CDs. My “kids” synch up their fancy phones with the TV or car radio and play music in ways that elude me while they order coffee and cake pops with “apps” and we drive to pick them up and there they are! It’s a brave new world for a mystified, resistant old lady. Ten years from now, I will write a column extolling this great new thing I’ve discovered called “Spotify.” Haha. THAT will be long gone, too.
I thank the Power Line boys for giving me this space every Friday and thank all the delightful commenters who make Friday my favorite day of every week. Maybe because I am standup-trained, I am spoiled by having an audience react on the spot to my words and I really enjoy the back and forth with the commenters. To borrow from Dirty Harry Callahan, every Friday you “make my day.” And if I live long enough, I will try every one of your recommended routes from Arizona to Minnesota. And back.