There's a lot to be said about thanks. So often, it comes off as this flippant, habitual response to nearly anything people say or do. I must say thanks or thank you at least 20 times a day, and I write it even more. In fact, I sign nearly every email with a thanks. To be honest, I rarely mean it.
So it's nice that there's one weekend a year for being thankful for all the really awesome things that one has in their life. For us here in Canada, that's this weekend, Thanksgiving weekend. It's no different than the American Thanksgiving. Well, I guess we don't have the pilgrims. But it's the turkey and the trimmings and the stuffing and the wishbone breaking and the family and pumpkin pie and wine and laughter and company. It's my grandma's kitchen and warm buns and fresh jam and combines in the field and fall jackets and walks to nowhere for no particular reason. It's my grandpa's hugs, my mom's smile, my dad's laugh, and me and my brother being terrible winners at cards.
And it's my daughter dressing up like a princess and my husband holding my hand while we fall asleep in our warm, safe, secure home.
When I share in this weekend, I don't need to remember all the things I'm thankful for because they're all around me and at their best.