I forgot to give thanks, but not Thanksgiving

SUBURBAN CHRONICLES

This column will be published almost a week after Thanksgiving, which is perfect because I almost always forget to give thanks.

I don’t mean that in a practical, everyday way. Hand me a double double through through the drivethru window and I shall be effusive and earnest in my appreciation. Hold the door open as I walk into the store and receive, at the minimum, a nod of acknowledgment, at best a hearty “thanks!”

In the larger sense, however, I sometimes forget just how good I have it. As the frustrations of everyday life pile up — the excessively slow commute, the mindless bosses, the overwhelming sense that the world is going to hell in a hand basket one social media post at a time — I lose sight of the bigger picture: that my everyday existence is, by any measure, pretty darn spectacular.

Then there is the food. Turkey is, in my estimation, one of the world’s underutilized meats, relegated to some poultry backwater only to be brought forth on a few special occasions through the year. Why we subject ourselves to veritable onslaught of chicken while kicking turkey to the curb defies both logic and our tastebuds. It helps that I’ve developed a foolproof way to cook it. Covering the bird in strips of bacon, then smoking it for several hours in a BBQ at a low temp produces flavourful, moist meat and a gravy base that is like an angel singing on your tongue. Garlic mashed potatoes, my wife’s lamb stuffing, cranberry sauce and some soonto-be-neglected steamed vegetable (unless there’s cheese sauce) is one of my all-time favourite meals.

I don’t even mind the company. When my children were younger, having guests over was a major undertaking because the kids were as much work as hosting other people. It was like juggling chainsaws, then adding a carving knife to the mix. These days, however, my spawn are actually somewhat useful: we sent our newlylicensed older daughter to pick up last-minute items while our younger one set the table.

Being around extended family can be fun, too. My wife and I are both the oldest of our familial generations, meaning we had kids before our respective siblings and cousins. It also means that while our kids have stopped requiring the kind of constant and exhausting supervision that babies and toddlers require; we now get to laugh at those struggling to cope with inevitable kid misbehaviour these gatherings often spark. Plus, my mother-in-law gets all giggly when she’s had too much wine.

I also like Thanksgiving because it seems to be one of the few holidays not hijacked by rampant consumerism or religious overtones. Halloween is about costumes and candy while Easter sometimes troubles my agnostic tendencies. Christmas is just a gong-show of the first order.

But the fall holiday seems mostly immune to all that. It does not require a trip to the mall or to church. The approach to food is as good, or better, than any other occasion while the overarching message — to give thanks — is simple and well meaning.

And so we should take moment to reflect on just how lucky we are.

Plus, it will be Christmas soon and that’s just going to suck.