And still I am thankful

It’s 72 hours since the turkey was cleared.

And still I am thankful.

48 hours since our Thanksgiving glow was shattered by a Colorado gunman.

And still I am thankful.

I just found out that someone has built a blog around “Gross good-bye letters to New Orleans” and yours truly’s final NolaVie column is Exhibit A (apparently because I am a “culture appropriator, tone-deaf racist garbage slinger who went hard on hack-writer shit before drifting aimlessly off to New Mexico”).

To which I can only say, “But how do you really feel?”….and still be thankful.

The promise of a long weekend is, now, long gone.

Facebook posts expressing gratitude are now back to their regular program of piss and vinegar.

A trip I wanted to take didn’t get taken.

The story I wanted to write didn’t get written.

The pounds I wanted to lose, well, yeah.

The bright mood I had on Thursday is now a little dimmer.

And, yet, still I am thankful.

Why?

Because, while the Colorado shootings are a tragedy that show the worse of American culture, they also show the best of human nature by reminding us, as Mr. Roger’s mom said, to always look for…and give thanks for…the helpers. The ones we know about. And the many more we do not.

Why?

Because, to paraphrase Kander and Ebb, while there’s “lots of chaff” on Facebook, there’s also “lots of wheat.” Warning: Do not click that link if you can’t handle the fabulousness that is Liza Minnelli.

Why (the thankful part, not the Liza)?

Because, while my weekend plans didn’t pan out, my weekend journey was pretty damned awesome.

I got to kiss my partner. And be kissed back.

I got to meet a new friend. And consider new possibilities.

I got to eat, to laugh, to cry, to hug.

I got to write this post.

I don’t know what the sunrise…or the week ahead…will bring.  Like you, I don’t even know if I’ll be around to see it all through.

But I do know this: As of this moment, I’m alive.  As are you.

And for that, I am thankful.

Still.