It’s funny that this theme this week has been Thanksgiving, because at reader Stan’s suggestion I just listened on YouTube to Joan Baez and Mercedes Sosa, heavenly voices singing “Gracias A la Vida” – thank you to life. Thanksgiving for life, for love, for words, ears, feet, a heart.
I could not agree more, particularly on this bright Sunday in October, my favourite time of year, when the sun is hot but the shadows are dark and cold. So much to be grateful for, as winter shuffles in. Health health health health health. Children work friends family a roof a garden a voice.
A voice.
Children.
Friend Kate brought me old photos the other day, my daughter Anna about 7 years old, outside at a birthday party, in a pink party dress, a lovely red coat and shiny patent shoes. I cannot ever remember pulling together such an ensemble for her, and yet there she is, perfectly dressed for an outdoor birthday party, warm but pretty. All those childhood years have vanished, two decades that I barely remember. As the leaves float in the air, so does my nostalgia. It’s the right time of year.
On my walk this morning, no baseball players but lots of men playing football. The hot scarlet of the sumachs is extraordinary, the intensity of the oranges and reds and golds. I am in love with my country all over again, despite another sleepless night – an article in the paper yesterday about how Canada is now a pariah in the world because of its current anti-environmental policies – Canada! Unimaginable! – and about the Conservative Party’s truly vile new endeavour – putting its giant logo on government payout cheques, even though they’re paid with taxpayer, not party, money. Absolutely reprehensible and if not illegal, it should be.
Beth, on this gorgeous day, put all that nastiness out of your head. I’m off to heat up the last, the very last Thanksgiving dinner, and will give thanks for democracy, even though some of my fellow citizens can be so mistaken and blind. As my ex-husband used to say, everyone is entitled to their own opinion, no matter how wrong they may be.
I give thanks for peaceful days like this, for health. Gracias a la vida.
P.S.
Just finished reading 84, Charing Cross Road, the witty and moving correspondence between an American writer and a British bookseller. The writer Helene Hanff produced the most succinct praise of non-fiction ever, when, in her usual lower case way, she ordered a book that another writer recommended.
“anything he liked i’ll like except if it’s fiction. i never can get interested in things that didn’t happen to people who never lived.”
I wouldn’t say “never,” but most of the time, me neither.
