Thanksgiving

Amid the actual and proposed wreckage of the Trump Administration, I'm finding it a bit hard to be thankful. After repeated exposure to the Trump-whore and the self-destructive lizard brains who, blinded by their anger, know no better than to support him, I am made unspeakably joyous by term limits.

Despite the mounting evidence to the contrary, the world hasn't ended. Not yet.

There's still that sweet moment where we clock out of work and have yet to assume our domestic responsibilities. We are free. In that sweet, fleeting instant, we have both a job and unstructured time.

And in that time, we are able to enjoy this, the golden age of beer-making.

Owing to modern distribution channels, we have access to a world of fragrant nectars unimagined in my adolescence. Sam Adams' Summer Ale. Their Porch Rocker. New Belgium's 1554 and spectacular Trippel. Deschutes Black Butte Porter, Leinenkugel's reliable Sunset Wheat and Berry Weiss and Trader Joe's (!) PLZNR.

A special shout-out goes to Leinenkugel's and Trader Joe's for keeping their beers affordable—even for those of us not in the one-percent. 

Drink deeply but responsibly, my friends.

There is likewise a world of frozen food out there as flavorful as it is nutritious. Number-one are Sweet Earth's artisan bowls, meatless concoctions drawing their inspiration from points the world over. 

Best is the Moroccan Tagine. Twelveth-century traders likely dined on something very similar before they set out for India or the Far East, with the region's exotic spices (allspice, cinnamon and cloves) providing a singular mix of tang underlain with sweet.

Yes, it's vegetarian. But membership is not required for consumption.

Lastly, there is the consumable known as human companionship.

Having lost my father and mother and now shepherding my long-time mate through the ugliness of early-onset Alzheimer's, death is no longer something that happens to other people.

The death of a loved one lends a whole new meaning to words like permanent and void; one I never came close to understanding when I was young.

Those who remain take on special importance.

It might be the hoariset of clichés, but before you complain about another family gathering and the attendees bounty of annoying habits and irksome opinions, be thankful you have somewhere to go.

A group to belong to.

An invitation to answer.

It is not guaranteed to always be so.