The ways I have experienced Thanksgiving are many. Early in my life it was as the large family gathering typically presented as the ideal. I don’t disagree. There were seldom seen relatives bringing an astonishing assortment of edibles; Some you’d been craving for a year while others you just hoped your parents wouldn’t make you eat. But we could never put together that Norman Rockwell scene with everyone sitting around a single table. Instead, Grandma’s house was filled with happy people eating in the kitchen, at folding tables, and from full plates balanced on knees. Marriage triggered a switch from celebrating the day with the large family in Darke County to the small but growing family in Cincinnati. Divorce changed things, too.
As a single, I shared Thanksgiving with friends and friends’ families. Some gatherings had a real “Alice’s Restaurant” feel though without the court appearance. That phase ended when three kids moved in. The “head of household” period saw some awkward attempts at feast making by me and some much more successful efforts by girlfriends. A shortlived second marriage included a new family to celebrate with. My current solo period began when the last of the young ‘uns moved out.
It was a little different than it had been before the family period. I was invited to join friends for holidays but everybody was a little more mature now. There was no question of me being genuinely welcome but I saw myself as more of an add-on than I once had. I dealt with the situation by running away. I first ran away for Thanksgiving in 2005. I started running away for Christmas in 2006.
I have left home for every Christmas since then. My Thanksgiving escapes have been less consistent. Since 2009, Thanksgiving has been a mix of home and away for me. Somewhere along the way, I realized that many state parks offer buffets on holidays. It’s something I’ve taken advantage of for both Thanksgiving and Christmas. Last year, my daughter and I enjoyed a traditional Thanksgiving meal at a local restaurant. This year we borrowed from my “away” experience and took in the buffet at Deer Creek State Park.
The place was absolutely packed and they were running behind schedule. That wasn’t much of an issue for us as there was a bar area in the lodge where we could pass the time with beer in hand. Our name was called about forty-five minutes after our scheduled time and we were seated at what we considered a primo spot overlooking the lake.
We joked about the possibility of there being nothing left to eat for us but that wasn’t the case at all. The only thing that ever seemed to get depleted was the stack of plates but even that shortage didn’t last long as the staff hustled to get clean ones to the table as soon as they were ready. The food was quite good and included all the standards like turkey, ham, stuffing, and potatoes along with some nice cold shrimp and baked salmon.
I realize that none of the pictures here are very good. They were taken with little care with my pocket camera. But more important than the quality is the absence of any pictures of my daughter or me with full plates. Heck, there aren’t even any pictures of the full plates and that’s just about unheard of in a Thanksgiving Day post. The truth is I had no intention of posting anything about the day and only snapped the few pictures I have because that’s what I do. In hindsight, I do wish I’d asked our waitress to snap a picture of us at our table but accept the fact that I’m lucky to even have a picture of the table.
I was also lucky in spending time with my daughter. I didn’t actually speak with either of them, but I did exchange text greetings with my sons in New York and California. There’s a meme bouncing around the interwebs with the observation that “Happiness is when you realize your children have turned out to be good people.” I realized that a long time ago but the fourth Thursday of November is a very good time to remember it and to be thankful for it.
This book is unusual and unusually good. The Dickens Scenes of the title are those in Cambridge, Ohio, that starred in this blog’s most recent regular weekly post. There are currently 94 of those scenes and each began life as a sketch by a fellow named Bob Ley. Bob is one of a group of writers, known as 
The individual photos are not credited but acknowledgments at the front of the book identify Tom Davey and Lindy Thaxton as the photographers. The photos are all quite good and do a nice job of capturing each scene from its best vantage point. Together, the book’s even-numbered (i.e., lefthand) pages make up the sort of catalog often prepared for a museum display. The village really is such a display with the sidewalks of Cambridge forming the museum.
I’ve long considered myself a winner in the game of life. I don’t mean that in a collect-all-the-marbles king-of-the-hill sort of way or a made-all-the-right-moves hit-all-the-right-notes sort of way, either. No, I mean it in the way implied by the quote in the image at right. I have known far too many good people who just never got a chance to grow old. That I have that chance is certainly enough, but I’m also appreciative of having pocketed a few marbles, climbed a few hills, made the right choice now and then, and nailed a few high Cs even if I went painfully off-key a beat later.
Thursday the 14th was the first day of my second decade of retirement. That’s hardly a record, but it’s a fact that some retirees I’ve known didn’t make it to the second year; Some barely made it into the second month. I recognize that being able to develop my talent for doing nothing over a whole decade is very much a privilege denied to many and I appreciate it deeply. Even though I declared myself a winner in the opening sentence, I hope to keep playing for quite a while. As I’ve said many times, this retirement thing is the best idea I’ve ever had.
We fought a war to get this country going then gave every land-owning white male above the age of twenty-one the right to vote. A little more than fourscore years later, we fought a war with ourselves that cleared the way for non-whites to vote. Several decades of loud, disruptive, and sometimes dangerous behavior brought the granting of that same right to non-males a half-century later, and another half-century saw the voting age lowered to eighteen after a decade or so of protests and demonstrations.
Of course, putting something in a constitution does not automatically make it a practice throughout the land and I am painfully aware that resistance followed each of those changes and that efforts to make voting extremely difficult for “the other side” are ongoing today. I don’t want to ignore partisan obstructions and system flaws but neither do I want to get hung up on them. I meant my first paragraph to be a reminder that a hell of a lot of effort, property, and lives have gone into providing an opportunity to vote to a hell of a lot of people. Far too many of those opportunities go unused.
I first posted the core of this article in 2014. In the original title, I claimed to not care how anyone votes. That was never entirely true, of course. I have my favorite candidates and issues. I’ll be disappointed in anyone who votes differently than I do but not nearly as disappointed as I’ll be in anyone who doesn’t vote at all. I’m reminded of parents working on getting their kids to clean their plates with lines like, “There are hungry children in China who would love to have your green beans.” I’m not sure what the demand for leftover beans is in Beijing these days but I’m pretty sure some folks there would like to have our access to ballots and voting booths.
