by Tom Shafer
November 24, 2021
So, last evening around midnight, Thanksgiving approaching, I entered the hot tub with mortality on my mind. This singularity was triggered by a number of things, from a recent doctor’s visit (a regular check-up) to the changing weather to a chat with my aunt who lives in Kentucky to thoughts of my dead family (mom, dad, and brother). As noted in my “Thanksgiving” post, my feelings about the two approaching holidays have transformed over time, especially now that my parents (and my wife’s) have passed away. My wife and I were not blessed with children and adoption attempts were disastrous at best, so we don’t have kids to share these celebrations. We tend to muddle through them, leaning on local siblings and their children, but I have to admit that I can’t wait for the arrival of January 2nd.
Because nature is the great healer, I didn’t wallow in these thoughts for long. Above me, the waning gibbous moon, Earth’s steadfast sister and closest companion, dominated the sky and lightened the darkness. Orion, the great Greek hunter, shone brightly, as always wielding a club in his right hand and an animal hide in his left. The Babylonians called this constellation MUL.SIPA.ZI.AN.NA, the Heavenly Shepherd, and the Ojibwa Native Americans named it Kabibona’kan, the Winter Maker, herald of winter. And, the Pleiades, the Seven Sisters, just northwest, smiled down as they always do. These luminaries, eternal sentinels of the sky, emitted and radiated a tranquility and serenity to those of us lucky enough to be in their wake.
The scene was briefly interrupted by a large airplane traveling east to west, potentially a passenger plane transporting families early to their ancestral homes for the holiday. After the lockdown of 2020, people across the country are eager to reconnect and celebrate this time of thanksgiving, to visit with grandmas and grandpas, aunts and uncles and cousins, and friends of all stripes.
And, just as I was exiting the water, the Little Miami coyote tribe serenaded me, punctuating and concluding this final act with their playful yipping and yawing. Nature always provides the best soundtrack.
All of this breathed life and hope back into me. Our Pilgrim brethren struggled mightily their first year here (1620 into 1621), losing half of their flock that first winter, but they persevered and endured (with help from the Wampanoag tribe), and late in 1621, commemorated (with the Wampanoag) their survival with three days of thanksgiving. Exactly 400 years later, we (and I) continue to survive and thrive.
Upon entering the house, I quickly sat at our kitchen island to scribble a little reminder about this whole incident so I could string a few words together for you. Just as I was finishing up, our black indoor-outdoor cat Rainbow hopped up (purring mightily), nuzzled me on the cheek, and rolled over on his back, exposing his tummy, begging for a belly rubbing. How could I resist?
Again, nature nurturing man, providing naturally what man needs.
With that, I (and Rainbow) wish you a very happy Thanksgiving.
