A return to returning thanks from Telegraph columnist Ed Grisamore
I counted my blessings last Thanksgiving. I always do.
I was surrounded by a large and loving family. There was plenty of food on the table. The autumn leaves were breathtaking.
But something was missing.
For the first time in 26 years, I did not write a Thanksgiving column in The Telegraph.
I began sharing my annual “What I’m thankful for” column in 1991, when I was a sportswriter. It became a tradition, a platform to express my gratitude. While most of it was personal, it had plenty of universal appeal.
So, now that I have returned from my publishing sabbatical, it’s good to be back here on the last Thursday in November.
What am I thankful for? Let me count the ways.
For all-you-can-eat Popsicle days and rolling around on the floor with the two most adorable grandchildren in the world. … That “football” weather is finally here, even though there’s not a lot of football season left and no rain prospects on the horizon. … For the wise old man who once told me there are no problems, only opportunities. …
That after 16 months of teaching in high school, I now speak freshman, and I am fluent in sophomore. I also know all the Justin Bieber songs. … For the $10 bill I unexpectedly found in my pocket. … For the ginkgo trees of Macon. Their beauty rivals the Yoshino cherry trees of the spring. … That today I am not a Butterball turkey. …
For the spiritual journey of reading my grandmother’s Bible, coming across Scripture she underlined and feeling as if she was there with me. … For early risers, public servants, Eagle scouts, prayer warriors, dirt farmers, big huggers, self-starters, lifelong readers and unsung heroes. … For the tire place “just a few miles up the road’’ when you have a flat. … For solvitur ambulando, scavenger hunts, porch swing therapy and the art of palavering. …
That the presidential election is mercifully over, and that no matter our differences, we all look at the same moon. … For just about any song with a fiddle in it. … For days when I come home with no ink casualties on my dress shirts — one of the hazards of the writing profession. …
For the legacy of my late father’s 50-year-old banana tree, now growing tall in the community garden at Mulberry United Methodist Church. … For refrigerator doors filled with smiling snapshots. … For gentle souls who lift people up and make everybody feel like a somebody. …
That I have never aspired to be the “most interesting man in the world” but sometimes get lucky and get to be the coolest guy in the room. … For honey and Himalayan sea salt at bedtime. … For sidewalk chalk, word puzzles, sweat equity, leaps of faith, curiosity conversations, creative piddling and a sense of humor. …
That I still know how to use a dictionary, even though my students laugh and want to race me with their electronic devices. … For funeral services that honor and celebrate a person’s life, not preach for an eternity on eternity. … For when I meet someone who knows one of my relatives, and it reminds me I must always be on my best behavior. …
That for the 38th straight year, I did not get up and run in the Labor Day Road Race. … And for the 11th straight year, I did not kill a deer with my front bumper. … For the wisdom of Winston Churchill: “You will never reach your destination if you stop and throw stones at every dog that barks.’’ …
That Thanksgiving Day calories don’t count. … For those days when the writing muse is on my shoulder. … That even though I don’t have all the answers, I enjoy the pondering. …
For those daily reminders that the best “things” in life aren’t “things.’’ … For absent friends and guardian angels. … For all of your blessings, too.
Happy Thanksgiving.
Ed Grisamore teaches journalism, creative writing and storytelling at Stratford Academy in Macon. His column appears on Sundays in The Telegraph.
This story was originally published November 23, 2016 at 11:48 AM with the headline "A return to returning thanks from Telegraph columnist Ed Grisamore."