Thanks for your time

While we’re still on the Week of Thanksgiving, I’ll quickly give thanks for people who come up with loopy time-sucking websites that allow you—no, encourage you—to do things like…dress a turkey like a total douchebag and give it something to say.

Here’s how mine turned out:

It was a hard choice for me—I think you should have been allowed to attach up to five of the obnoxious utterances balloons. So just imagine this guy rotating through with a number of them.

Your turn.

Thanksgiving for the first responders

It’s 0755 on Thanksgiving morning, and from my vantage point half a block in either direction from Sunnyvale Fire Station No. 4 and El Camino Real, I can tell there’s some really big emergency. They rolled out of the fire station a couple of minutes ago, and since then there’ve been two more swarms of sirens going down El Camino.

It must be bad.

And since I was putting together my post-gym breakfast when I heard the first round—you know, just dawdling about in the lull between the cardio workout and getting going on all the holiday stuff—I was reminded of how grateful I am for first responders. The men and women who choose to put themselves in harm’s way year in and year out, days, nights, weekends, holidays—they’re there…

No, they’re here for us.

They turn out whether it’s a kid choking on a hot dog, a grease fire in a Thanksgiving kitchen or a blaze at a chemical factory.

I’m deeply grateful that they are here and do their job no matter which pols in municipal, state or federal governments take shots at the wages, health coverage and pensions they get. They show up every time, run into buildings that everyone else is fleeing and do their damndest to save us from the actions of bad guys, nature and ourselves.

I hope the crews from Sunnyvale FD and others around the country—hell, others around the world—have a truly uneventful day today, and that they return safely to their families after their shift is over. And that this is a happy Thanksgiving for everyone.

Helping without reason

Today I’m giving thanks for Good Samaritans, people who don’t particularly know you but still give their time, energy and expertise to help you out of a jam.

This has happened to me more than a few times, and on every single occasion I have been humbled by their generosity and kindness.

I try to hold this in mind, and to be one of those people. I have a tendency to think that what I know and what I can do aren’t of much use to other people, so I have to fight against that. You just never know, and it would be a shame not to try to help someone when you actually can.

For one thing, it’s good to share. For another—as Frank Cross so famously pointed out in Scrooged, it makes you feel so good.

Don't ditch the dogs

Carrying on the theme of giving thanks this week, especially for animals, I got involved in the #DontDitchTheDogs trend on Twitter yesterday. It seems that there’s a trend of a different sort in the UK, to cut funding for K9 units (as well as to police forces in general), and some of the various cops I follow started a campaign to raise awareness.

They actually made the number one UK trend during the period they had it going.

Anyhow, it got me thinking about service animals in general, and public-service dogs in particular. (Look, cats make excellent companions; none better. But training them to take on citizen-facing activities? Erm, not so much.)

Police dogs, drug dogs, rescue dogs, cadaver dogs, bomb sniffer dogs, military dogs, guard dogs--we owe them all a debt of gratitude.

Think about it: they do a hard and often dangerous job, going into harm’s way alongside serving officers. They go into gunfights, knife fights, riots, collapsed buildings, meth labs, war zones, scenes of terrible carnage. They face pissed-off protestors, hopped-up tweakers and crack heads, insurgents, unstable terrain, toxic substances, extremes of weather and every other kind of bad thing. Their human partners put their lives in their paws, relying on them completely; and they don’t let them down. They often are killed or wounded in the line of duty.

And they do it for love.

What the hell more could you ask from anyone?

Gratitude Monday: table graces

This is a big Gratitude Monday—the week of Thanksgiving, we should really be upping our game. So today let me express my heartfelt appreciation to everyone who contributes to our meals every single day.

Thanks to all the animals that provide us sustenance. Turkeys, chickens, geese, ducks, pigeons, sheep, cows, pigs, deer, goats, bison, rabbits, fish, shellfish and any others I’ve missed. For giving us bacon and chorizo, cottage pies and chops, eggs and kabobs, venison and bouillabaise. Thank you for Thanksgiving dinner with the family, Sunday brunch with friends, picnic sandwiches with a lover, chicken soup for a sore throat, fish ‘n chips on the pier, bangers and mash in a pub.

I pray that if you were raised for this purpose, you were safe, sheltered and healthy; that you had space to roam about when the fancy took you, and a warm place to spend the night. And that when the time came for slaughter, I hope you had no idea what was in store for you. Thank you for giving us your life to enrich ours.

If you were wild, my wish is that your death was a clean kill and that your herd or flock or school did not wonder where you’d got to. Thank you for your time on earth and for giving us our nourishment through your death.

I’m also grateful for the people who care for these animals—ranchers, wildlife conservationists, fisherfolk; and for those who grow and harvest the other things we have on our plates and in our glasses. Farmers, orchardists, vintners, brewers, distillers, bee keepers, pickers, packers, truckers—thank you for doing jobs that never end, that depend on the vagaries of nature, that are hurry-up-and-wait…and sometimes worry. Thank you for my mangos, my apples, my raspberries, my broccolini, my potatoes, my haricots verts, my pinots noir and gris, my cask ale, my Oban, my coffee beans and my decaf green tea.

I’ll even thank you for the Brussels sprouts, because there are some misguided people out there who like them. I guess I’m grateful to them, too, since with them eating those nasty things there are more roasted parsnips and steamed carrots for me.

I’m grateful for millers, bakers and pastry makers—especially those who show up at the local farmers markets. And for baristas who give me latte with a picture in the foam. And for counter people who recognize my face and remember my name. And for wait staff and bussers and dishwashers for the times when I want a meal without having to prepare, serve or clean up after it.

It has been said that is love. If so, then there ought to be a whole lotta that going around this week. Spare some of it for those who made it possible.