For those of you having trouble mustering appropriately levels of thankfulness this year, a suggestion: Try making a list, from A to Z, of all the things you're grateful for, e.g., A is for all kinds of Animals, B is for the smell of fresh Bread at the corner bakery, C is for the morning's Coffee, and so on, until you run out of alphabet or angst, whichever comes first.
And after the jump, a poem to ponder next week while you're waiting for the bird to brown.
One day is there of the series
Termed Thanksgiving day,
Celebrated part at table,
Part in memory.
Neither patriarch nor pussy,
I dissect the play;
Seems it, to my hooded thinking,
Had there been no sharp subtraction
From the early sum,
Not an acre or a caption
Where was once a room,
Not a mention, whose small pebble
Wrinkled any bay,—
Unto such, were such assembly,
’T were Thanksgiving day. --Emily Dickinson