I don't particularly like holidays. I just like "days". I'm a creature of habit, so anything that intrudes on my carefully constructed schedule makes me feel out of sorts.
However, I suppose, in keeping with the All-American tradition, one should use Thanksgiving to reflect upon thankfulness. The cynical me would say that most people utilize this holiday to pig out on foods their wives only cook one or two times a year, and to drink mass quantities of beer, and to gorge themselves on football. The sentimental me would harken toward gratitude and family familiarity (once I'm done slaving over a hot oven and washing multitudes of dishes).
You know me; I'm honest, at least on my blog, if nowhere else. To whit, I don't know that I have a ton of things to be thankful for this year. 2015 has been a struggle. Financially. But the past three years have been a struggle, so I either accept it or go mad. I prefer to accept it.
My job becomes more and more tedious and stress-inducing as the years go by. I comfort myself, sometimes, with the thought that I only have five more years until retirement, but then I think, five more years?
So I search out the finer things. Things like my dog, who I love and depend on. Which sounds silly, but honestly, I depend on her being there...or here...napping, dreaming on my loveseat, legs pointed toward heaven; content. Which makes me feel content.
Finer things like PBS documentaries, which have no commercials, and therefore I can fall asleep for a heavenly thirty-minute nap and not be jarred awake by someone hawking GOLD! To put in my safe. And asking me, impudently, what actually is in my safe. None of your damn business, William Devane!
Finer things like rediscovered music; music I'd forgotten or brushed aside because it was silly.
Here's a tip: Don't worry about "silly".
So, it all comes down to music.
It always comes down to music.