If you live in DC, and there's one day you don't want to be on the freeway unless you have to, it's the night before Thanksgiving. Something about the holiday brings out the wanderlust from inside the Beltway. Already it's Wednesday morning, the office is quiet, and they'll probably send us all home early. I remember when Paul was growing up, and we would try to make it out before the early rush to get to Cleveland. The mountains are lovely this time of year, and Nana got out the third set of china for occasions like this, but other than that...
We'll probably go to Sal's family out in the western suburbs for the afternoon. Filipinos have embraced the best of American culture -- we'll deal with the worst some other day -- including Thanksgiving Day. They even celebrate it on the same day, don't ask me why. But they spread a lovely table, and I don't understand most of what they're saying. So I'll probably bring my portable DVD player, and pretend I'm in the corner reading a book, when I'm really sharing "The Chronicles of Narnia" with the kids.
There are reasons this writer would have for giving thanks, as opposed to, say, five years ago. I still have my health, what's left of it. Paul has gone in five years from being what my old man would call "spirited," to an honor student in college who can discuss serious literature that isn't required reading (like Plato's "Republic" as a high school senior). The masters of ceremonies at a place where I used to serve the Old Latin Mass once called me "slow and untrainable." Now I'm first master of ceremonies at a large suburban parish, with over thirty young men on my watch, and I get to work with some really great priests. Fortunately, I'm still unworthy, which is all the humility I need right now, thank you very much.
Life is good. Benedicamus Domino.