We are partway between Canadian Thanksgiving and the American version.
Why are the Americans later than we are? Because we were grateful first, and they copied off us.
Why am I thankful this year? Let me count the whys.
I am so thankful this Thanksgiving for Stephen Harper and the fact that there is only one of him.
I have great gratitude deep in my heart for Mike Duffy and the fact there is only two of him.
I know, I know. People will now be writing and going off the deep end because I have made untoward remarks about Mr. Duffy and his considerable girth.
I wish I could have done this without such reference, but the sad fact is that there’s nothing else for which one can criticize Big Mike.
It isn’t as though he were lacking in moral turpitude, or had his fingers in the taxpayers’ pockets, or something similar.
No, Sen. Duffy is as pure as the driven slush.
I could go on like this, perhaps to the end of the column, but you might not like it. It’s being flip and shallow and meaningless.
On the other hand, perhaps it’s better than mouthing the same old Thanksgiving tripe that we seem to indulge in so often this time of year. I try to avoid that like the plague.
On to the flip and the shallow.
I am exceedingly grateful for Brad Cabana.
I don’t know Brother Brad personally, which is always a drawback when you want to have fun with someone in the Newfoundland and Labrador political game.
I’m in the habit of evaluating people — mainly men, but not exclusively so — by whether or not I’d like to go fishing with them and boil up by a pond and spend periods of time not saying anything.
But that’s a dangerous practice for someone on whom you wish to practise character caricature — not even sure these two words go together.
Whatever, I could find that old Brad is a decent fellow after all and knows how to wet a Silver Doctor on a nice pool during spring run-off.
After all that, I couldn’t very well paint Mr. Cabana as an opportunist thinking this was the land of political opportunity, given the yokels who inhabit it, and refusing to give up on that dream, no matter how silly he looks to the rest of us.
Sorry, Brad. Perhaps if we had gotten some trout. … But I’m very thankful to you for the opportunity for another political caricature.
This Thanksgiving you may find it difficult to understand why I would be so grateful for a molar that’s turned rogue.
Love that expression “turned rogue.” I’ve been watching John Le Carré’s “Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy” in which a spy is thought to have gone bad — in short, “turned rogue.”
I have a tooth that’s gone rogue, with the result I have to go to the capital city to have oral surgery. I have the strongest suspicion that oral surgery does not mean we sit down in the doctor’s office and talk about it.
So, why am I so thankful for this wonderful piece of news which my dentist gave me this past Thursday?
It’s because I have a strong attachment to that tooth.
Fifty-six years ago, which was even before I was a virgin, I was told by the Dalhousie medical clinic that this particular tooth had to be removed then and there or else there would be big trouble right there In River City.
I, of course, paid no attention and decided to deal with it when I had to — my usual method of dealing with unpleasant realities.
Wow, the boys were right. I didn’t get it taken care of back then, and now I have to go talk about it with someone called an oral surgeon.
But I am grateful that I did get all the years of happily chewing on that one blessed tooth. Happy Thanksgiving!
Happy Thanksgiving for grandson Nicholas (14) and his father (on the wrong side of 40).
Those two intrepid hunters took to the woods last week and came back the better off by two nice moose, one large bear, one medium-size coyote and four fat grouse.
They also frightened the living daylights out of everything that moved within a radius of 10 miles, including two hunters from Topsail Road who thought they were up back of Terra Nova.
They say the woods in that area are strangely quiet this week. You may recall they went on a wild boar safari in Florida this summer and came home laden with wild boar meat. It wasn’t half bad, either.
Son and son-in-law proclaimed last week’s bear to be excellent eating.
I decided to pass. Nicholas had lots of takers for his grouse.
The moose was great.
We all passed on the coyote.
I am absurdly grateful for the United States of America.
Its relationship to our Canada is similar to that of a compact car discovering a 22-wheeler transport truck halfway up its tailpipe somewhere on the 401 between Windsor and Toronto with the speedometer showing 150 K and the transport giving every indication of veering wildly out of control — something like this sentence.
More than likely, anything that happens to the transport will involve the compact as a sort of collateral damage.
Why am I thankful for what’s happening south of our border? Because it’s such a lesson to the world of what happens when a nation has its head buried so far up its collective anus that it has lost any sense of its destiny as a nation and the powerful negative forces that are tearing it apart.
The U.S. has greatness, but lacks the collective moral and political will to realize it and use it as a force for good in a world begging for leadership and example.
I’m grateful that we, as a nation, can watch and learn.
I don’t think there’s much we can do to help.
Ed Smith is an author who lives
in Springdale. His email address is firstname.lastname@example.org.